


Apathy

by imperatorkhaleesi



Series: Thunderboy and Human Bae Chronicles [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Marvel Universe, Superfamily (Marvel), if you squint there's a little Stucky in there, this voyeurism thing is becoming a trend for me isn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperatorkhaleesi/pseuds/imperatorkhaleesi
Summary: The opposite of love isn't hate, it's...
Relationships: Bucky Barnes/OFC, Bucky Barnes/Original Female Character of Color, James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Thunderboy and Human Bae Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/327578
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. Cash Shit

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Title: "Cash Shit" by Megan Thee Stallion feat. DaBaby

“You don’t like me.” Geneva nearly choked on her beer; she turned and met face to face with Bucky, his eyes two or three drinks away from glassy, his metal hand shoved into his pants pocket. Her eyes went down to his whiskey glass; it was filled halfway with a familiar looking reddish-amber gold liquid. _Huh_.

It shouldn’t surprise her that Thor would pull out the Börbanamaðr for such an occasion; he knew too many supersoldiers, and he and Beatrix wanted an open bar after all. It was simply surprising to her to see so much of it in one glass.

Perhaps not; after all, _she_ wasn’t a supersoldier. She could only have maybe half a finger in with her whiskey at the most before she’d be knocked on her ass. And on top of that, this was what the good stuff on Earth could only dream of being, and it’s not every day that an Odinson gets married.

The turn up was fucking legendary; even Geneva knew that, and this was her third time in Asgardia. The Asgardian people were known for their revels; the stories she’d heard from Thor were insane to say the least, but this? Massive banquets, fire juggling, bands, clowning? This was pure, unadulterated madness.

In their defense, and Geneva will always jump to the defense of Asgardians, this was the first, real, organic opportunity they’d had to party their faces off in a really long time, so she wasn’t going to judge.

Things were only just beginning to wind down at this point; Beatrix and Thor had already left for their honeymoon on Alfheim an hour or so ago. This was the only time she’d ever seen people get more hype at a party after the guests of honor left. The humans were starting to run out of steam, but the Asgardians, it appeared, had just caught their second winds. Geneva had managed to keep herself out of the more boisterous shenanigans up until now; she was the maid of honor after all, but now that all of her real responsibilities left to have married sex on an idyllic planet, she was ready to cut loose.

She’d been nursing her third (fourth?) beer, on one of the many balconies in the palace, looking out at Earth; Zoe and Clint were somewhere, wreaking havoc in one of the kitchens for their YouTube channel, no doubt, and Elle was probably getting into bed at home. Geneva sighed, softly, loosening the collar of her pressed white shirt, her pinstriped suit jacket hanging open, her stilettos dangling idly from the edge of the balcony. She reached up and freed her straightened hair from it’s updo, letting it cascade down her back in soft, pretty waves. She felt…content.

That is, until the bane of her existence showed up.

Okay. “Bane” is…uncharitable.

Bucky…wasn’t her cup of tea. He was barely her cup. He grated on her nerves, if she was keeping it a hundred, but she put up with him because he and Beatrix were friends, and he helped Beatrix during a really rough patch.

It wasn’t because she thought he was a bad person, far from it. It was just…in the early days of Thor and Bea’s relationship, when she, Zoe, and Elle were just getting to know the other Avengers, Bucky actively rubbed her the wrong way. He was just…there was no other way to put it: astoundingly annoying. He had a right to be that way: she knew about the legend of the Winter Soldier, like every other American, so the fact that he could feel anything other than crippling depression was a testament to how hard he worked to recover, and she respected that immensely, but she also knew she had the right to not like him. He radiated abrasiveness, and she’d had her fill of smarmy, abrasive men.

To be fair, it hadn’t even been their first interaction (if it could even be called that) at the bar which had bothered her. She remembered Bucky and Sam being the last ones of the Avengers crew to turn up. She remembered Sam’s stressed, anxious buoyancy and Bucky’s taciturn silence, and the way Steve’s demeanor changed almost completely when they arrived. And she understood; in fact she’d been the one to text the group chat shortly after Bucky’s arrival to notify everyone that _holy shit i think we’re hanging out with the fuckin’ Avengers????_. It didn’t even occur to her to form an opinion of Bucky’s personality; circumstances prohibited it. They’d clearly come back from a very terrifying… _whatever_ , so it wasn’t fair to make decisions about who they were based on how they were then. She thought he was hot, but that was the extent of it.

And that was her party line, until that first movie night Thor invited them all to, when Bucky spent most of the night camped out on the couch, staring at her. And the next movie night around, where he’d realized she caught him staring at her, and tried to cover it up with excessive, annoying, performative flirting. The more she got to know him, the further he landed in the “self-satisfied, self-aware, overly-flirtatious, non-commital asshole” type she’d burned through many situationships with already. He was, at once, her type, and the worst possible decision to make, and after her last breakup with a man, she decided that she wasn’t going to keep making that mistake. No, m’am. She’d make better choices if she ever decided to date a guy again. Guys like Steve, maybe.

But, to her annoyance, just because she’d made that decision didn’t mean she would be able to stick to it. So despite her best efforts, she still wanted Bucky to rail her. And despite his best efforts, she was not giving into impulse.

She tried to mitigate her contact with him when she could; the only reason she’d even called him to help her break into Beatrix’s apartment that day was because Steve was the only Avenger she had the number of at the time, and also the only one who would understand just what Bea was dealing with.She’d promptly shoved down her disappointment once Bucky had arrived, explaining that Steve was in the Balkans (he was surprised that Steve had even answered; apparently he was on a top secret mission); they’d gotten Bea out of bed and into the shower, then into bed after pizza, and Bucky had gone after that, promising to drop in to check on her, which he did, almost every day after. Geneva let it happen; she, Elle, and Zoe, as much as they loved Beatrix, were all hilariously busy, and it helped to know that she had someone else she could rely on to check in on her best friend, even if she personally hated being around him.

He started calling too; Steve called Geneva the minute he landed from his mission, and went with Bucky to check on her one day. As a result, he deputized Bucky to call and keep him updated whenever he wasn’t around, which was often, so Bucky called Geneva semi-regularly. She always made sure the calls were short and utilitarian. Once Beatrix was back on the road to recovery, Geneva’s contact with Bucky disappeared, save for movie nights at the Tower, which was just how she wanted it. 

Her eyes went back up to his; Christ, maybe he’d mixed his drink too, because now his gaze was hilariously focused, deep blue eyes intent on her as he waited for a response. Geneva huffed.

“I don’t…not like you, James,” she replied, taking another drink. Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Well when you put it like that,” he shot back; Geneva’s lip curled, just a bit. “Obviously I’m fulla shit…”

“I’ve never said that I don’t like you.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, briefly.

“You realize you have a very loud silent way of expressing your emotions?” Geneva rolled her eyes. “Oh. I see you do.”

“Alright,” she said, chuckling. They fell silent. Geneva could feel Bucky’s eyes on her, but she kept her eyes intent on the edge where the Earth cut through the inky black of the galaxy, stars glinting in the far awayness. She could see Jupiter from where they stood, it’s moons shining around it. Asgardia was beautiful, one of her favorite places of all time. The view from it alone was worth suffering Bucky’s nagging.

“Alright,” Bucky sighed, breaking her reverie. “Full disclosure. Beatrix is your best friend, and she’s…not my best friend, but a close friend, someone that I really care about, and I’d like, if at all possible, to be on good terms with the people who love her most. Or at least be in a position where her loved ones don’t fucking snarl at me the second I walk into a room.” Geneva leaned away from him and took him in. James Buchanan Barnes, Winter Soldier, friend to both Captain America and Falcon, whiskey glass in hand, in a fitted pinstripe suit (or pants and pressed shirt with rolled up sleeves, at least; the bridesmaids and grooms all wore the same look, which was a strikingly nice contrast to Thor and Bea’s traditional Asgardian attire), just cursed at her. Well not at her, but around her. It had to be the alcohol, she mused. He was usually less direct and ten times more irritating when he was sober. 

“I don’t _snarl_ ,” Geneva murmured.

“You…don’t really have a lot of self awareness, do you doll?”

“I have as much self awareness as I need, James. And I know enough about myself to know that I don’t particularly want to be around you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Fuck you, that’s why.” He squinted at her, assessing, as a smile began to spread across his face. Yep, _there_ it is.“Don’t even _go_ there, Barnes.”

“You sure about that, dol—” Geneva felt a flare of annoyance; she shoved her pointer finger in his chest before he could finish.

“You call me that fucking name one more time, and I’ll be wearing your balls as earrings in 20 minutes.” Bucky’s right hand wrapped around her fingers and yanked her toward him, holding her gently but firmly. She froze, her arm going limp in his grip.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he murmured, his gaze flickering between their entwined fingers and her eyes.

“Alright,” Geneva shook her head, then yanked her hand out of his grasp, and pressed her palm to the middle of his chest, shoving him hard. Bucky shifted, surprised. Geneva felt a small bit of satisfaction; she knew if she hadn’t caught him off guard, he wouldn’t have moved an inch, but she tried not to think about that too hard. Their eyes locked; her gaze flickered down to his mouth, only for a moment, just to look… _fuck_. His lips looked so…bite-able. She could already feel the beard burn on her cheeks. Goddamnit. _Stay on target_. She turned to leave.

Bucky had other ideas.

One minute Geneva was moving away from the edge of the balcony, back to the cavernous hall where the reception was still roaring away, and the next minute her back was pressed against the threshold, her wrist held gently in his hand, his face hovering above hers.

Oh.

_This_ was a new element.

Out of all of her friends, Geneva would probably say that she is the most aware and in control of her emotions. Beatrix, her best friend (by both of their admissions), would suggest that Geneva is perhaps more aware of her other people’s feelings than she is of her own.

Elle would say that, because Geneva is constantly aware of how deeply she feels, tries not to feel anything, and it always fails miserably.

Zoe, who gives not a single flying fuck about protecting her older sister’s feelings, would say that Geneva is about as aware of her feelings as a dead Vulcan.

Bucky would agree with Zoe.

At first, he thought it was because he was being closed off; he did that as a defense mechanism when he met new people. They first met on that night out when Thor and Beatrix met; that was also his first time going to the bar with so many other people, and he’d arrived later, after he and Sam had debriefed from an unbelievably stressful mission, so he’d definitely been more on the defensive than usual. He could understand why she might find his now-uncommon silence off putting.

But then there was the movie night, the Tower movie night that she, Beatrix, Elle, and Zoe’d been invited to, simply because everyone liked them so much. He’d started watching her, almost by accident. She was buoyant, light and funny, and boisterous; she and Steve had got along like a house on fire. But the minute Bucky came into her sightline, her energy shifted, almost unintentionally, which made him shift too, though not by much. If anything, it made him more his private, civilian self, louder and more boisterous, almost compensating for her retreat. She didn’t like him, he could feel it. This would be less of a problem if he weren’t so attracted to her.

Geneva was funny, smart. Astoundingly pretty, probably one of the most stunning people he’d met in this century. He’d read some of her published stories too; she had a strong, erudite narrative voice. Decisive and sharp, with an air of whimsy. He liked it, a lot. He was sure he would like it even if he didn’t know her. He’d love to see what she’d do in the magical realism genre.

He would have told her that by now if he’d had he nerve to bust through the wall. She had options, he knew that, it was _obvious_. She wasn’t gonna go for him, but he at least wanted to be friendly.

She’s not gonna let her guard down any time soon, so he would have to.

He had to admit though, when he was planning out this minor confrontation in his head, he wasn’t expecting to be this drunk. Definitely a little buzzed to get him to work up the courage. But not this drunk.

He hadn’t paced himself, that was the problem. Every time he’d caught sight of her, tendrils of soft wavy midnight blue hair falling from her sleek bun and framing her dark, pretty, laughing face, he’d found the nearest barrel of Asgardian liquor (mead? beer? whiskey? what the fuck _was_ this stuff, he thought as he took another sip) and took a shot, much to the glee of whichever Asgardian was manning the tap.

By the time he’d made his way over to her near the end of the night, his shirt unbuttoned around his neck, his jacket discarded somewhere, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he was hovering in the area of buzzed and tap dancing on the edge of wasted; his body was burning through the Asgardian Bordermordor-or-whatever-it-was-called, but not fast enough to get him back on steady footing or make him recall what his plan was. So he’d simply gone with the first thing that came to mind, which was admittedly aggressive. Her reaction was warranted. But then. There was…something. She’d looked at him, took in the full length of him, and the glint in her eyes…

Bucky wanted to kiss her. The feeling was overwhelming; he almost leaned in and did it when she shoved her pointer finger in his chest; Bucky felt his temper rise. Her skin felt smooth and soft in his hands.

She was stronger than he’d anticipated. He liked it.

He’d reached forward and had her between him and the wall before his common sense could stop him. He waited, his eyes locked on hers, her wrist held loosely in his hand now. She could pull away if she wanted to.

She almost did. He felt her twitch, almost retreat from him; her eyes narrowed, locked on his. She twisted her wrist out of his grip. Then rose to her full height; she was still half a foot shorter than him, and she was out of her heels, but fuck if she wasn’t imposing.

And fuck if it didn’t make him want her more.

And her lips parted, slow. Bucky’s eyes locked on them, on the plummy, soft shape of them; her lashes fanned prettily over her dark freckled cheekbones, her deep chestnut brown eyes locking on his, then taking in the rest of his face, settling on his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat; her lips came together again. But she didn’t move.

Bucky reached up; he cupped her face with his metal hand, his thumb stroking her jaw, his eyes darting across her face.

“You know,” Bucky mused; his knee slid between her legs and spread them wider. “I don’t think you don’t like me. I think you have the opposite problem and you don’t know how to deal with it. I think that I’ve given you a couple opportunities to leave for good, and you haven’t taken them. I think I’ve got you right where you want to be, but you don’t know how to ask for more.” Geneva bit her bottom lip, softly. “God,” he sighed. “Let me make it easy for you. Tell me to stop and I will. For good.”

Geneva let out a sharp sigh, but didn’t move. His hand dropped to cup the side of her neck, and he pulled her to him. Her lids went heavy, her eyes soft; her breath grew heavy as her lips parted again. Bucky stopped short, their noses just barely brushing. “Still time to say no.”

She reached forward, wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, knotted her fingers in his long hair and pulled him down to kiss her. He heard a crash; his arms went around her waist and pulled her tight to him. Heat exploded in his stomach, and wound out all over his body. She sighed and his tongue slid into her mouth. Her body melted against his, her hands gripping at his neck and waist, her knees going weak. Bucky drove forward, pressing until he felt brick against the back of his hand and she sighed again, her hands pulling at his shirt. His hand went down her back, over her hip, and slid down, squeezing her thigh and pulling it up to rest against his waist.Her hand worked underneath his shirt to his bare skin, and she stretched her hand across his back, raking her nails down as his hand slid higher, the bulge in his pants pressing against her pelvis. She hopped and brought her other leg up; Bucky gripped her thigh in response and pressed her between the brick wall and himself; she ground against him and he let out a sharp groan, his mouth breaking away from hers and moving down to her neck.

“Fuck,” she sighed, tossing her head back against the wall. His thoughts swam, her body felt hot all over as his hands roamed, as he ground against her, as his hand strayed down between her thighs, toward her zipper, her panties maybe already wet with her arousal—

“Wait, wait wait wait,” she panted, pressing her hands against his chest. He released her legs and stepped away, his hands going to her wrists, his eyes fixed on her as he bit his kiss-swollen lips. “This is not a good idea.”

“You’re right,” he nodded, his eyes slowly lingering over her before meeting hers again. He leaned into her, his left reaching down to skim across the waist of her pants. “This is a terrible idea…” She ducked away before his mouth could meet hers.

“No,” she said. Bucky paused. Then stood up straight again.

“Alright,” he said. Geneva pulled in a sharp, surprised breath.

“Okay,” she replied. “I’m leaving now.”

“Alright,” Bucky nodded. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He stepped back.

Geneva nodded. Then turned and walked toward the stairs, down to the party.

Bucky turned back toward the view, desperately trying to stifle the heavy wave of rejection sinking into the pit of his stomach. He almost raised his hand to take another sip before he realized that he’d dropped his glass. He turned to look.

“Motherfu—” Geneva rounded the corner and met his eyes again. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she walked toward him, “I forgot my shoes.”

“You should get them the—” Geneva gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him down to her mouth.

Bucky had a pet theory about his left arm. He’d been harboring it for about 60 or 70 years, and only ever spoken to Steve about it in it’s entirety, and to Shuri about it in passing, mostly because relating it made him feel like a weirdo and she was like a younger, cooler sister to him.

He was convinced it had a mind of it’s own. More specifically, when They™ were rebuilding the neurological connections between his brain and his first cybernetic arm, they must’ve taken a shortcut and hot-wired that fucker to his id.

It was hard to notice when he was brainwashed and mission-programmed, because every bit of his mind, conscious and unconscious, shifted toward mission completion. But when he wasn’t programmed, in between missions, post-thaws, and now, in this Hydra-decommissioned, Avenger-focused phase of his life, he noticed that, despite his conscious mind, and whatever he was engaged in, if he had a particularly strong impulse, and didn’t immediately kill it in time, his left arm would follow.

Like now, when Geneva, all 5 feet and 6 inches of her, gripped his disheveled shirt, pressed herself along his body, and pushed her mouth against his again. Bucky’s mind went fuzzy, almost immediately, the shock of her mouth on his overriding the disappointment and creeping sadness in a rush of bitter hops, honeyed whiskey, and dopamine.

He stumbled back, his lower back pressing against the edge of the balcony, but his fucking left arm ratcheted around her waist and pulled her tight to him, pulled her off her feet briefly, knocking the wind out of him again, making him gasp, making her tongue slide into his mouth, making his right hand find her ass, making a growl rise out of his chest and vibrate softly into her lips. She bit his bottom lip as she broke away, her eyes widening slightly. She slipped out of his grip again, touching her lips briefly with the tips of her fingers.

“Oh my God. Fuck. Okay. I’m leaving.” She turned around again.

“Geneva,” she swung around in a panic; Bucky held up her heels, dangling them off two fingers. “Don’t wanna forget these again.”

“Right,” she exhaled; she was off the balcony and down the hall before Bucky even registered that he wasn’t holding her shoes anymore.


	2. The Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on, Buck. I’ll owe you a favor, you’ll get to hang out with the girl you’re in love with—”  
> “I’m not in love with her.”  
> “The girl you think you’re not in love with—”  
> “Steve.” Bucky heard him fall silent, and immediately regretted his rebuke. He should have let Steve tease him. G-ddamnit.  
> “Wow. Holy shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "The Box" by Roddy Rich

“So you kissed him…and then you fucking _ran_ ,” Elle stared incredulously at Geneva before looking over at Zoe in the kitchen, who shrugged and rolled her eyes. “What the _fuck_ , Gennie?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Geneva sighed, packing up the stacks of books on her—formerly Beatrix’s—coffee table. “It was unexpected. He just like…was _there_ , and I guess it felt right? It’s weird! I don’t even like him!”

“Shut up, Eva,” Zoe replied, rolling her eyes. “Enough with this fucking charade. We all thought that was bullshit, and now Bucky does too.”

“Alright, Zo, enough. I don’t like him like that. I don’t like him at _all_. This is just…he’s just so insufferable!”

“Bucky is not insufferable,” Elle replied, pausing in dusting the tv console to meet her gaze. “You just don’t know him well enough because you don’t hang out with him.”

“Right okay, how many times have you hung out with the Winter Soldier?” Geneva huffed.

“The Winter Soldier? Never. Bucky Barnes? Dozens of times. He’s fun.”

“And funny, oh my God,” Zoe chimed in. “Bucky cracks me up.”

“Whatever,” Geneva muttered.

“Damn sis,” Zoe looked at Geneva, alarmed. “What that white man ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” Geneva snapped. “I just don’t like him.” Zoe and Elle traded a look.

“Alright,” Zoe snorted, rolling her eyes again. “When are you heading to the cabin?” Geneva huffed, pushing her sweater sleeves up her forearms.

“As soon as I get this coffee table on the truck and covered up,” she replied, pulling the drawers out.

“Did you get enough groceries? It’s supposed to snow pretty bad up there this week.” Geneva nodded.

“Oh?” Elle took one of the drawers and began wrapping it up in a sheet. “You’re _staying_ up at the cabin? Did you finally cut through the writer’s block?” Geneva huffed.

“Not in the slightest. I’m just gonna start on Steve’s biography. I finally got all those primary docs up there last week and knocked out most of the interviews. I’m gonna build an outline and start writing the intro at least.”

“ _Most_ of the interviews?” Zoe said, loudly, staring at her. “Ain’t nan but two niggas _to_ interview.” Geneva rolled her eyes.

“Shut up.”

“How you gonna write a whole ass biography about Steve Rogers and not interview the _one_ bitch that was also there for most of it?”

“Zoe,” Geneva sighed. “If you must know, I was gonna knock together a first draft and then ask Bucky to fill in the gaps. Shut your ass,” she added on quickly as Zoe opened her mouth, to make a raggedy ass joke, no doubt. “And considering what literally just happened, I don’t wanna see him for a while. I’m not gonna sign up for fifty-leven hours of questions and storytelling from his irritating ass right now. Now can y’all please help me get this coffee table downstairs and into the Chevy before it starts snowing.”

“God,” Zoe huffed, supporting the back end as they made it down the last flight of stairs. “I can’t believe Bea is really moving out of her apartment.” They set the table on its side at the edge of the curb; Geneva climbed into the back of the truck bed and hefted it on as Elle pushed, the two of them laying it softly on the blankets she spread out earlier.

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Elle panted, leaning hard against the back of the vintage pickup. “It’s either _this_ cute little apartment that you can sublease to your best friend’s little sister, or the palace at Asgardia that has unparalleled views of the fucking moon. Choose your fighter.”

Geneva snorted. “Thanks for letting me take the table, Zo Zo.”

“You’re welcome, Eva. That’ll be $800.”

“Fuck you.” Zoe loaded the last bag into the cab and slammed the passenger door closed, then circled to the driver’s side.

“Fuck you too. Text me when you get there so I know you’re safe, raggedy bitch.”

“I love you.”

“You’re an ugly hoe.”

“Y’all so fucking weird,” Elle snorted, looking between them. She closed the driver’s side door behind Geneva and squeezed her hand through the window frame. “Listen to Zo Zo though. Please text us when you get there so we know you’re safe.”

“Will do.” Geneva waved as she pulled away from the curb and took off.

“Ellie?” Elle turned to look at Zoe waving at her sister, a massive shit-eating grin on her face.

“What?”

“I have…the _best_ idea. Where’s your phone?”

“Buck…what are you doing for the next few days?” Bucky smiled softly at the barista and returned his attention to his phone. Fuck, how could his hangover still be this g-ddamn _bad_? After _two_ fucking _days_? He’s never drinking that Asgardian shit ever the fuck again.

“Other than trying to pull my head out of the mead barrel I shoved it in and being the on-call Team Cap member, nothing. Why?”

“Sam’s rotating out for you. I need you to go to Lake Placid this week.”

“Why?”

“You know that updated biography we caught wind of?”

“You mean the one you let Random House talk you into?” 

“Shh. Yes. That one. I may have convinced them to let Geneva do it. She’s gonna start working on it now. She mentioned that she needed to talk to you.”

Bucky squinted through his sunglasses, pulling his hat brim lower over his eyes.

“When was this?”

“Today.”

“Today?”

“Yeah. She’s heading up to her parents’ place in the Adirondacks to write. She wants you to meet her up there.”

“She said that? You heard her say that.”

“Yes. Bucky. Is there a problem? Do you know something I don’t?”

“No. Yeah. Fuck. We kissed.”

“ _What_?”

“I kissed her. She kissed me. We kissed.”

“When were you planning on sharing this with me, you fucker?”

“Well today is literally the first day I’ve been able to do anything other than vomit and sleep, so that might have something to do with it.”

“You’ve been obsessing over Gen literally since the moment we met her—”

“I am not _obsessed_ with her, Steve—”

“—reporting to me with every single interaction, and _now_ you tell me you kissed her?”

“We were very drunk.”

“ _And_?”

“She said we should stop. And I let her have it, whatever. Bad timing, she definitely does hate me, #herchoice. But then she comes back, says she forgot her shoes, and jumps me. And runs off again. And I haven’t talked to her since.”

“Yikes.” Bucky rolled his eyes then immediately winced, the throbbing in his head immediately shooting straight into the base of his skull. He didn’t currently have the physical range to express his disdain right now, but he was gonna get there at some point.

“Yeah. Fucking yikes. Something tells me she’d rather not see me right now.”

“I don’t know, Buck…she said to tell you to keep it professional. So maybe…”

“She was too drunk to remember what happened? Yeah, I hoped for that too.”

“She might have been, she sounded her usual level of irritated when she mentioned your name.”

Bucky slumped onto a park bench under a tree and sighed.

“You’re not making this sound appealing, Steve.”

“Come on, Buck. I’ll owe you a favor, you’ll get to hang out with the girl you’re in love with—”

“I’m not in love with her.”

“The girl you _think_ you’re _not_ in love with—”

“Steve.” Bucky heard him fall silent, and immediately regretted his rebuke. He should have let Steve tease him. G-ddamnit.

“ _Wow_. Holy shit.”

“Don’t.” Bucky shut his eyes, and somehow, g-ddamn, somefuckinghow his hangover got worse. Fucking Asgardians and their good ass liquor. He’s never drinking that much again. “Please don’t say it.”

“Bucky, I’m sorry, I—”

“Did she give you an address?” Bucky stood, walking toward the park exit.

“Yeah, but—”

“Text it to me. I need to pack a fucking jacket.”

“Fine,” Steve said after a long moment of silence. “And Bucky?”

“What?”

“Did you _really_ just say hashtag her fucking choice?”

“Get woke, Steve.”

“Oh my God, I’m hanging up.” Bucky laughed, then immediately regretted it as he sprinted over to the nearest garbage can.


	3. Poetic Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky could hear music playing faintly, from further back in the house. Thank fuck. He went back the way he came, past the porch, past the bay window, and around to the back of the house, overlooking a small portion of the lake. The blinds were open. Bucky stumbled up to it. It looked like a bedroom—  
> Oh.  
> Fuck.  
> Jesus H. Fucking Bleeding Christ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Poetic Justice" by Kendrick Lamar, feat. Drake

“What time did you fucking get in?” Geneva rolled her eyes as she flopped onto the couch, watching the snow fall outside the huge bay window, her iPhone pinned between her ear and shoulder as she polished off a bottle of whiskey. She threw her feet on top of the recently-moved coffee table.

“I had to get the table in before the snow got bad, and then I had to get the truck covered in the garage because of the snow, and then I had to make dinner because getting the table in and the truck covered made me hungry, and then I texted you guys.”

“That’s not the answer to the question I asked.”

“Zo Zo—”

“ _Bitch_!”

“Oh aiight, fuck you too, bitch! Forget I called!”

“I will heifer!”

“Did you and Elle get the rest of your stuff in okay, hoe?”

“Yeah hoe! What did you eat for dinner? You _better_ have eaten that bag of spinach I bought you.”

“I did. It was amazing. You pick good spinach.”

“Don’t try to butter me up, I’m still mad at you, bitch.”

“Fine.”

“I love you. Be safe.”

“I love you too. I will. Stop checking the SPLC hate map.”

“Fuck you.”

Geneva laughed and hung up. She yawned softly, stretched, then rose and drew the curtains over the bay window.

Her mom’s former office (now hers since her parents moved to California) had the best view in the entire cabin, or her favorite one, at least. It looked out over the lake, to the mountains wrapping around the town below them. She could see the lights from the streets, the train station a little further away from the edge of the town, a quarter mile from the lake, but only faintly, in the heavy snowfall. She sat down at the massive desk, the military docs to her right, hours and hours of conversations with Steve queued up, waiting to be transcribed. Geneva cleaned her glasses, pulled her hair up and off her neck, flexed her fingers, and pressed play.

STEVE:  _Okay, so, this is a silly story_ _,_ _(Steve began.)_ [He’d sat back against the couch and rubbed his eyes.]  _I was thirteen or fourteen. Um, lemme think, Bucky must’ve—_

Pause. Geneva huffed. She stood and left the office, returning a few moments later with a new bottle of whiskey and her glass. She set it next to her laptop and sighed again, filling the glass and knocking it down in one shot. She refilled it halfway, then pressed play again.

STEVE:  _—been fourteen, so I was thirteen or just turned fourteen. Either way, uh, we were too young to get into the shit and old enough to know better, but that never stopped us_ .

GENEVA:  _Possible title number three_ _, (Geneva laughed);_ [She remembered shifting the mic a little closer to him and further away from the noise in the kitchen, where Zoe and Clint were recording themselves cooking for their YouTube channel.]

STEVE:  _I think I like that better than ‘America’s Ass,’ but I’ll keep an open mind,_ ” _(he replied.)_ _Anyway. I was sick that day, so my ma, Sarah, made me stay home from school. So I’m home asleep for a few hours when I hear some kinda rattling, so I’m looking around like what the fuck and Bucky—_

Pause. Geneva pressed her fingers against her temples, biting her lips, then blowing through them to shake off the sensation.

“Fuck’s sake,” she murmured. “Get it together, bitch.” Play.

STEVE: _—’s standing outside my fuckin’ window, sorry can I cuss?_

GENEVA:  _These are just gonna be for me when I’m writing. I may pull quotes, and in that case, you can decide whether you want me to leave them in or not._

[Steve studied her for a moment before shrugging and tossing his hand.]

STEVE:  _Fuck it, leave ‘em in, I’m from fuckin’ Brooklyn for fuck’s sake, people are gonna figure out that I’m a fuckin’ degenerate sooner or later, so anyway—_

[Geneva’s laugh as she listened back matched her laugh on the recording almost pitch perfectly.]

STEVE:  _—so anyway_ _, (he laughed,)_ _uh, I’m covered in sweat, deathly ill, which is a regular Wednesday for me, looking at him like what the fuck are ya doin’ here, and Buck—_

Pause. Goddamnit. God fucking damnit. Fuck. She polished off another glass, licked her lips.

“ _Lake Placid_.” Bucky lifted his bag and wrapped his scarf tight around his neck.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.”

“ _Of course, Mr. Barnes. Unfortunately due to the weather, I was not able to drop you closer to Ms. Cricklow’s cabin._ ” Bucky stared dubiously at the snow swirling at the bottom of the quinjet ramp.

“How far away is it?”

“ _Approximately a quarter mile up the mountain to the northwest of us._ ”

“Awesome. Thanks FRIDAY.” Bucky trudged off the quinjet, already annoyed at the buffeting of the wind throwing the snow into his face. The quinjet lifted, slowly, wobbling, before it took off, thrown to and fro by the storm. He couldn’t help but feel a small bit of sympathy for it.

“Well fuck,” he groused; he turned, stamping in the already settling snow to regain steady footing. He could see a small collection of bright lights blazing in the direction FRIDAY pointed in. He pulled his scarf tight over his face again, and began to walk.

Geneva groaned, stabbing pause with her thumb for what felt to be the eightieth time. She shifted in her seat again, slouching against the back of it, pressing her fingertips to her lips. Steve was in the middle of telling a very sweet story about his mother, but for the fucking life of her, she couldn’t focus.

(Though if she were being honest with herself, she’d admit that every time her concentration was thrown, it was because Steve had just said “Bucky”.)

She whipped her glasses off her face and tossed them on top of her keyboard. She’d started drinking straight from the bottle an hour or so ago; normally she’d let that herald the beginning of the end, but not tonight. God help her, not tonight. Because now, she was annoyingly, intensely, uncontrollably horny, and now it was almost impossible to transcribe.

She huffed, polishing off what was left in her whiskey glass in one shot, then stood, grabbing the half done bottle and her phone.

“Fuck it,” she sighed, wandering toward the bedroom. “I’ve got a whole week.”

Bucky huffed; he couldn’t feel his toes anymore, his cheeks felt raw from the unforgiving wind. His legs burned as he leaned against a massive pine, out of the wind for a quick moment. Geneva’s fucking cabin was only a couple hundred feet away now; it felt farther in the fucking blizzard. Motherfucker. _This better be an amazing book_ , he hissed. _And Steve owes me_ big.

She plugged her phone in and flopped into bed, wiggling out of her sweatpants and pulling off her cardigan. She tapped the screen; Alabama Shakes’ _Sound & Color_ began to play on the speakers. She snuggled underneath her comforter, sighing softly, almost moaning as she brought her thighs together. Goddamnit. Fucking goddamnit.

Geneva flipped over, and reached down for the dopp kit she left on her bedside table. She remembered packing at least one of them…aha!

She grinned, pulling out her travel vibrator. She leaned back against the plush pillows.

There’d been this absolutely gorgeous Asgardian woman at the wedding. One of the new Valkyries. She’d worn her hair short and curly, cropped close to her scalp. She’d had the most stunning cheekbones Geneva ever had the opportunity to lay eyes on. She was shorter than her, by a few inches, her coloring a little lighter, but her biceps were well and fully on display in her uniform.

_Geneva licked her lips, slowly, then leaned in to kiss her, cupping the back of her head and pressing her into the wall. The woman turned, pinning Geneva there, raising her chin and licking and biting at her neck until she moaned._

_Geneva’s jacket slipped off her shoulders. The woman dropped to her knees, undoing Geneva’s dress pants, pulling them down, kissing up her thighs. Fuck._

_Geneva felt a light touch across her ribcage, on the buttons of her shirt. She opened her eyes. Bucky’s hands skimmed down her sides, his metal hand slipped under her waistband, his mouth met hers._

“Fucker,” Geneva huffed; she threw her covers off her legs and brought her knees up, her hand going under her shirt to play with her nipples.

She and Brunnhilde had made the mistake of making out once, before Brun and Okoye started dating. It’d only been a mistake because Geneva had been far more sober than Brun at the time, and therefore sober enough to know better, but she’d gone with it anyway. Gone with Brun pulling her behind the massive Asgard throne, lifting her up and laying her down on the ground, pressing along her body and tenderly caressing her neck, pulling up her legs to wrap around Brun’s waist, tilting up her chin to kiss along her throat…

(At this point Geneva, ever reasonable and responsible, even while inebriated, stopped her, pointed out the abject weirdness of Brun crying while she made out with her and forced her to please just go find Okoye and tell her how you feel. This isn’t okay. You deserve to be happy and so does she. I’m not mad, I promise. I’ll be more mad if you don’t go. And yes, I will demand the right to have your first child named after me, if you ever decide to have them. Go love on your girl.)

But, there was a part of Geneva that wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t stopped her. If she’d let Brun continue her course down, maybe let herself be flipped over, let her jeans be pulled down, let those talented fingers dance down her thighs, let those lips find her neck, scruff scratching against the tender skin as he pulls her hips up and back, and slips into her, his long thick cock splitting her wide open, making her gasp against those cold metal fingers—

“Mother _fucker_!” Geneva yelled.

Bucky stumbled onto the porch and knocked; he would have just called her, but he’d tucked his phone into his breast pocket and he wasn’t pulling his right glove off just to text. He made a mental reminder to harass Tony about a metal-compatible touchscreen cover the minute he got somewhere warm. How long had it been since he knocked? A minute? Should he do it again? How many knocks before it was just rude? Was that number different in a storm?

G-ddamnit, he was starting to shiver. The window to the left of the door showed off the massive foyer, a doorway leading to a brightly lit room further off to the left. He dropped his bag at the door and stepped off the porch, moving to the left of the cabin. There was a huge bay window facing the way he just came. The blinds were drawn. Shit. He trudged to the right, past the porch to the windows on the far side.

The window displayed a massive wood desk, stacks of crates and boxes surrounding it, a laptop and speaker sitting on top of it. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Empty. Fucker. Wait, what is…

Bucky could hear music playing faintly, from further back in the house. Thank _fuck_. He went back the way he came, past the porch, past the bay window, and around to the back of the house, overlooking a small portion of the lake. The blinds were open. Bucky stumbled up to it. It looked like a bedroom—

Oh.

_Fuck._

Jesus H. Fucking Bleeding _Christ_.

Geneva’s legs were spread, _splayed_ out over the bed; she rolled her hips, hard, pressing herself against the matte grey vibrator in her hands. She was wet; fuck, she was so wet, Bucky could see it from across the room and through the g-ddamn window. He could hear her moaning now, whimpering. He reached down with his left and adjusted his cock, now straining against his zipper. Shit. He shouldn’t. No, he’s _not_ going to. Aside from this being a blatant violation, holy fuck did he feel like a creep right now (Jesus did her tits look amazing, bouncing like that under her shirt), what kind of fucking nutcase would whip his fucking dick out in the middle of a snowstorm and start jerking off to someone else jerking off (how was she so fucking _wet_? how long had she been at this?), even if it was someone he really liked (her legs were shaking, she must be close) and actually wanted to see jerking off like this at some point, (oh fuck, he could _really_ hear her now) with her hand going to her clit, pressing the vibrator into herself like that, moaning just like _that_ , _g-ddamnit_ , if he didn’t get inside soon, all of the blood that rushed from his feet and head to his dick was going to cause frostbite and the only use he’d be to her would be an anatomically accurate, frozen dildo.

He probably wouldn’t mind, if that were the case anyway, and she’d probably prefer that to—

She rolled over, onto her side and brought her leg up, and Bucky gasped, full on fucking _gasped_ , watching as she rolled her hips, faster, _faster_ , chasing her release with a determination that made him want to fucking _help_.

She’d run out of options; Carol, Heimdall, Nat, T’Challa. She’d gotten a little optimistic when she’d come around to Steve as usual, but once Bucky’d shown up and they started tag-teaming her, she fucking gave up. Steve had eventually disappeared, and suddenly it turned into an intense hate-fuck kind of wank; Geneva had never been so wet in her life, and as a result, never been so angry about being so wet in her life. The more she could envision Bucky railing the everloving fuck out of her, and looking so goddamn pleased with himself while he did it, the more infuriated she got.

She’d started edging herself, for some unholy reason. Fucking _why,_ when she so desperately wanted this to be over with somehow. Subconsciously, she knew it was because the Bucky of her horny-angry imagination would know that was the easiest way to piss her off, which is why she did it. Goddamnit. Fuck.

She turned to her side and brought her leg up, working her clit hard and fast. _Fuck_.

_Do you wanna come, he taunted. Huh? You wanna soak my cock with that pretty little pussy of yours?_

The only, singular nice thing about imagining Bucky fucking her blind was the fact that she didn’t actually have to form words to curse him out. She could simply _think_ them very fucking loudly to get her point across.

_Alright. Come on, Gen, cause I’m not gonna wait for you._

Geneva cocked her hips back just a little and that was it. She let out a loud moan, clenching down hard on her vibrator, working her clit until her orgasm ebbed away. She slid her vibrator out slow, hissing as she went, then turned it off and let it drop on top of the comforter. She let out a soft exhale.

_You’re welcome._

Geneva immediately felt her rage rise again. _Fuck_. She moved to sit up. She’s gonna have to change her sheets. She left all the fucking lights on, and the blinds op—

She froze, staring out the massive window as she locked eyes with Bucky. Neither of them moved. Then, he raised his hand and waved. Then, she opened her mouth and screamed.


	4. All N My Grill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Eva, sweetie. Come on, look at me.” She brought her gaze back up. “It’s not that bad. I mean, it’s definitely bad, but it could absolutely be completely worse—”  
> “I said his name during,” she blurted. Sam snorted.  
> “Fucking what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "All N My Grill" by Missy Elliott, feat Big Boi & Nicole Wray

Once he’d come back to his senses and stopped running, he remembered that hers was the closest house and he was in the middle of a fucking snowstorm, and that if he didn’t want to die, he’d have to go back. He almost didn’t. He really genuinely almost considered walking all the way back to Manhattan and burrowing under the foundations of Avengers Tower until the next ice age. Dying of hypothermia almost seemed preferable to going back to face her, and if he’d had the opportunity to ask her at that moment, he was sure she’d agree with him.

But he really couldn’t feel his toes. And his right hand was starting to feel a lot like his left, which concerned him, primarily because being a fucking supersolider meant he was usually immune to those things, and his heart was starting to race because when HYDRA used to put him under, his extremities were usually the fucking first to go, so he had to go back. Because he was gearing up to have a PTSD episode in the middle of a snowstorm, and then he’d definitely die.

By the time he’d gotten back near the halo of lights that heralded Geneva’s cabin, his heart was really hammering, despite the fact that he was genuinely stumbling and moving slower than he should, the wind buffeting him back and forth. He could hear her shouting from the porch.

“Bucky!” She came down the stairs, mercifully, (or unmercifully, depending on his perspective in the moment) covered head to toe in a coat and boots. She beckoned for him to come back in, supporting his weight to bring him up the stairs and inside.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She yelled; she’d stripped him out of his jacket, boots, and jeans, and wrapped him in a warm, dry blanket, setting him close to a space heater and shoved a massive cup of tea in his hands. He was so grateful and exhausted, he didn’t even think about cracking a joke when she undid his snow-crusted jeans.

“Steve told me you needed to talk to me,” he sighed tiredly. “About the book.”

“Well yeah, I did say that, but I meant when I got back. I _said_ when I get back,” she sank into the recliner opposite him and pulled off her coat and boots. She still wasn’t wearing a bra. Probably no time to put one on considering she was only wearing a shirt. Was she wearing panties underneath her sweats? “Bucky.”

“Huh?” His eyes went up to hers.

“What are you staring at, Barnes?” He blinked twice before answering.

“Wh…uh…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Geneva hissed, shooting out of her seat. “Stop fucking looking at me like that.”

“Well, I’m sorry, doll, I turned up under the impression that you needed my help writing a book, and I find you getting yourself off and saying my name—”

“ _Woah_ ,” Geneva held up her hands; she was getting ready to lie. She was very cute when she got that whole righteous anger thing going. “ _You_ were being a _creep_ and standing outside my bedroom window—”

“—that you left the blinds open on,” Bucky interrupted.

“—in the middle of the fucking wilderness,” Geneva shot back, “where I am more often than not the only person I see for goddamn miles, and you violated my privacy. I did _not_ say your name,” she added on; she turned to walk back to the kitchen. “And even if I did, which I did not, that’s not something you would have known if you weren’t where you’re not supposed to be to _begin_ with.”

“You kinda did though,” Bucky said, shrugging; he was gonna have to reheat this cup of tea later; it didn’t have any cream in it. “Say my name, I mean. I stopped listening after you lied about that part, the rest of that sentence was incomprehensible.” He didn’t like green, but he’d deal with it, she was nice enough to make it and not let him die in the snow like a wolf-boy—

“I fucking did not, James,” she fired back; Bucky looked up at her. She was standing at the threshold, pointing at him, her brows furrowed. Holy shit, she didn’t even realize. He grinned.

“You did, actually,” he replied. He took a large slurp of tea, not because he wanted to but simply because he knew it would infuriate her. “Sorry to disappoint you, doll. If it would make it easier, I could tell you when and in what position it happened.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” she started, “you say _anything_ about me saying your raggedy ass name or nickname in any capacity that involves my vibrator, and I will drag you out of here by your hair and leave you in the snow. Do we have an understanding?”

“Are you wearing anything under those?” He said, nodding at her sweatpants, completely unable to suppress his smile. She picked up an afghan hanging over the couch next to her and hurled it at him.

“I fucking should have let you die out there,” she snarled.

“Steven.” Were she not involved and not angry enough to break things with her bare hands, the muffled ‘aw shit’ that signified his taking her off speaker and carrying his phone into the next room would have cracked her up.

“Hey,” he sounded out. Geneva dropped her phone from her ear, and flipped on FaceTime. He answered half a second later, a very guilty expression on his face.

“Steven. Grant. Rogers,” Geneva continued.

“Oh come on, now,” Steve wheedled; Geneva could imagine that he thought that voice and expression were charming. It was his bad luck that she could see Bucky in it. “The full name is uncalled for—”

“Why is your little friend up here?”

“Huh?” Geneva sucked her teeth.

“White man, don’t you ‘huh?’ me. I taught you how to ‘huh?’ You better give me a straight answer, talkin’ about some ‘huh?’.”

“Gen, I really don’t know what you’re referring to—”

“Steve, please don’t treat me like I’m dumb, especially after Bucky _told_ me that you told _him_ I needed to talk to him about the book, when I _specifically_ told ya ass that I would be doing that _next_ _week_.” Steve went silent for a moment, his face contorting into a million different expressions in less than 30 seconds.

“Gen—”

“So here’s where I am with my deductions.” Geneva hopped up on her kitchen counter and stared out the window, her expression sharp and ponderous. “I called you this morning; you knew that I would be up here for a week working, because I told you so. But that doesn’t explain how Bucky knew how to get here, because FRIDAY doesn’t know where the cabin is. But _Zoe’s_ raggedy ass does; we came up here as a family until she started high school, she’d know the address and the route like the back of her hand. And I know for a fact that Elle would have tried to talk her out of it because _she_ knows I came up here specifically to _work_ , so that means that you and my sister planned this. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“It was actually my idea—”

“And you’re not a schemer and definitely not a snitch, so now I know that this was Zoe’s plan, you’re an accessory, and Bucky is also a victim. Lucky for him, I won’t kick him out because there’s a snowstorm happening, but that means he’s gonna be stranded up here for the next two days because this storm is gonna be characteristically bad, and Lake Placid has a very lackadaisical attitude about plowing out the mountain cabins during the tourist off-season. So I really hope the Avengers aren’t gonna need a gunman with a bionic arm soon. And you’d better pray your little Irish Catholic ass off for the immortal soul of your friend, because if he pisses me off, I will kill him, and hide the body in the middle of the woods, and no one will ever find him.”

“Please don’t do that, he’s supposed to be my doubles partner in a bowling tournament next week. And I wouldn’t pray for his soul. He’s Jewish. That would be rude.”

“Steve, you are so fucking _old_.”

“Bucky and I are the same age!”

“And he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that he’d be going to a bowling tournament with another 90 year old, and that’s about the only thing I appreciate about him.”

“Oh,” Bucky appeared from around the corner, holding his mug and the afghan loosely around his shoulders; Geneva’s eyes darted down to the sliver of his chest the blanket exposed, back up to the spot where his shoulder fused into his bionic arm, then to his face before she could stop herself. He grinned. “ _That’s_ what you appreciate about me?”

“Any number of _Letterkenny_ references will not get your ass out of the fire, Barnes,” Geneva shot back, deadpan.

“Sorry, I thought that Steve’s ass was the one in question,” Bucky replied, setting the mug on the counter. He began to rifle through the drawers.

“Steve’s ass would be a far more welcome sight than yours right now. What are you doing?”

“Oh? Well when you were yanking my jeans off 15 minutes ago, I wasn’t hearing any complaints—”

“Shut the _fuck_ _up_ , Barnes—”

“Hol’ up,” the screen blurred; Steve let out a grunt of protest and Sam’s face appeared on-screen. “Eve…why are you pulling off jeans and whatnot?”

“Well, my best guess is Bucky’s stupid ass decided to walk up to the cabin instead of waiting it out in the quinjet like someone with sense, so by the time he got up here, he was giving Rogers & The Tesseract looks.”

“Too soon,” Steve huffed from off-screen.

“Sorry Steve. Either it was let him lose another arm—”

“I would’ve been fine—”

“Oh really?” Geneva snapped, looking up at him. “Then by all means, take your ass back outside and stare through my window like a fucking creep again! What are you _doing_?”

Bucky froze, his hand on the knob of another cabinet. “Looking for some sugar.”

“You ain’t gonna find it there, Buck,” Sam said. Geneva let her phone drop on the counter and covered her face, then let out a loud scream. When she uncovered her eyes, Bucky was staring at her with a wounded expression on his face. Geneva pointed at the apple shaped jar behind him and slid off the counter, bringing her phone with her.

“Sam,” she said, taking off down the hall. “Lemme call you back.”

“Aiight so boom,” Sam said; Geneva was sprawled out on her bed; her door locked, her window shades shut and curtains pulled tight across. Sam was sitting at the table in the living room of his Tower apartment. “What the fuck’s the problem here, Eva?” She took a deep breath.

“If I tell you this, you have to swear on everything that you will not tell Steve.”

“You know Bucky’s probably telling him everything right now, right?”

“One, Bucky is telling him what he _thinks_ he knows, not _everything_. Two, I don’t accept that as a loophole, so I’m not giving you license to tell Steve, or M’Baku for that matter. I don’t want Shuri asking me about my business just because you don’t know how to keep a secret from your boyfriend.”

“Team Normie and Rhodey are basically the only people that M’Baku cares to hear about—”

“Start off with Bucky and he’ll lose interest.”

“—and this is way off topic anyway. What is the fucking tea?”

“Bucky saw me masturbating.” Sam stammered and shut his eyes. Then opened them. Then met her gaze. She could quite literally see him buffering as he processed her sentence.

“Eva…give me a minute.” He dropped his phone on the table and returned a minute later with a full tumbler of whiskey. “Start from the top.”

“I started working on transcribing those conversations with Steve, and I started getting annoyed and frustrated, so I gave up for the night—”

“And then went to bed…

“But I left the blinds open in my bedroom—”

“Geneva Rae—”

“We’re literally still in the middle of a snowstorm, Samuel, I left the blinds open because who in the fuck is gonna lurk outside my window in the middle of the night, right? Oh, that’s right, I forgot about the pack of roving POW-turned-supersoldiers with bionic arms wandering the woods in upstate New York, they’re a reported population on the SPLC hate map!”

“You and Zo Zo really gotta stop checking that map.”

“Not the point, Wilson!” Geneva let her phone drop and buried her face in the comforter.

“Eva, sweetie. Come on, look at me.” She brought her gaze back up. “It’s not that bad. I mean, it’s definitely bad, but it could absolutely be completely worse—”

“I said his name during,” she blurted. Sam snorted.

“Fucking _what_?” Geneva buried her face in the comforter again.

“I said his name…while I was getting myself off.”

“Alright. Any particular reason _why_ that happened?”

“I…I was thinking about him.”

“Geneva Rae Cricklow…look at me.”

“I can’t, Sam! I cannot look at you right now! I don’t even wanna look at myself right now!”

Eva. It’s okay. Look at me, please.” Geneva finally brought her gaze back up and angled her phone so he could see her. “It’s really not as bad as you think it is. You kind of like Bucky—”

“I do _not_ like Bu—”

“Shush. You do. Stop playing. Stop playing yourself, sis. Really. Yeah, he’s fucking annoying as all shit, but you wanna fuck him, apparently. Couldn’t be me, but bless your heart—”

“Can we just skip to the part where I move on and get over these hideous feelings?”

“Sure. Go fuck him and it’ll sort itself out.”

Geneva fully sat up in her bed, and stared down at her phone. She lifted it to her eyeline and stared at Sam.

“Quoi?” Sam huffed, and brought his phone directly to his mouth.

“Go out there, and fuck. Bucky. Barnes.”

“I cannot do that,” she replied after a minute.

“Why not?”

“Because…” _You’re right, and I hate it._ “Cause…” _The thought of ceding any ground to him after the fight I put up makes me want to dig my heels in even more._ “Well, because…” _Goddamnit, I want him to fuck me blind but the thought of what I have to do in order to make that happen makes it almost not worth it._ “Because—” _Almost_.

“Geneva—”

“No. Another option. I _need_ a different option. Please.”

“Fine,” Sam sighed. “The worst thing you could do is give him attention. He’s going to try to get a rise out of you and no matter what happens, you cannot let him. Ignore him into submission.”

“Do you promise this will work?”

“I will work. I can’t promise that you can do it, but it’ll work.”

“I really resent the fact that you assume I can’t ignore him when nothing would give me more joy.”

“Uh, I assume that because every time I’ve seen y’all in the same room together, you go out of you way to drag him for blood the second he works your nerves. The literal second. And you have to know by now that the only reason he does it is because he knows it gets on your fucking nerves.”

“Alright,” Geneva sighed; she set her phone against her pillow and raked her hands down her face. “Alright. I’m an adult. I’m capable of completely ignoring, and by extension, not fucking someone I don’t like.”

“Oh good,” Sam replied. “The jury was out for a minute there.”

“Shut up. Thank you, Sam,” she sighed, smiling.

“Any time.”

“So when are you moving to Wakanda?”

“Nah, we’re not doing that right now, M’Baku-proxy.”

“Awww, Sammy, it’s worth thinking about, at least.” Sam huffed and smiled softly.

“It ain’t worth thinking about until he thinks about moving here first.”

“Fair,” Geneva replied. “We’d all miss you too much anyway. Zoe would flip shit if you moved a borough away, let’s not even think about multiple time zones.”

“Deadass. Speaking of, we have a Skype date coming up, so I gotta go.”

“Alright. Tell him I said hi, and don’t tell him shit else.”

“Bye, Gen.”

“Promise me, Wilson!”

“I promise.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too! Don’t kill him. Wait until after our doubles game next week.”

“Y’all so fucking old.” Sam hung up, his soft laughter ringing in her ears.


	5. Boasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He probably shouldn’t. He really should just go into the kitchen and make dinner and slowly but surely wear her defenses down that way.  
> But Zoe was right.  
> Geneva is hard-headed as fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Boasty" by Wiley, Stefflon Don & Sean Paul, feat. Idris Elba

Bucky is insanely jealous. This cabin in the middle of upstate New York business is bomb as hell. Geneva and Zoe have truly been holding out on them all. The cabin isn’t massive, but it’s two gorgeous floors of cosy and rustic, wooden and worn in with massive windows, and fucking spectacular views.

Bucky had gotten up at 6 am; the snow had certainly slowed a bit, but not stopped. Geneva hadn’t joked when she said the storm would be bad. If he was going to be stuck here…

She had an extremely impressive book collection in her study. He bypassed the stack of boxes next to her desk and went to the nearest wall. Hm…he’d never read _Holes_ before…

“What are you doing?” He turned around; Geneva stood in the threshold, a massive cardigan draped over her shoulders.

“I was just grabbing a book. Sorry.”

“It’s fine as long as you didn’t disturb anything on my desk.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good.” Bucky shifted from one socked foot to the other; he hadn’t brought slippers, hadn’t thought he’d be there longer than a day or two.

“How did you sleep?” Geneva said; she made no move to step into her office, just stood stock still in the doorway.

“Pretty well. You have a beautiful cabin.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Bucky couldn’t help it; his eyes scanned over her, slowly, taking in how her dress clung to her body, how her hair gently fell from the pile atop her head and framed her soft, pretty face. She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her body.

“I need to work, so if you’re done—”

“Right. Right, I’ll just…” He’d stepped forward and Geneva immediately darted out of his way, circling around the other side of her desk as he moved to leave. Bucky paused mid-walk, and turned to look at her. “I’m sorry. About last night. That wasn’t okay.”

Geneva carefully lowered herself into her seat before she brought her eyes up to his.

“Thank you for apologizing,” she replied, evenly. Bucky nodded.

“And I…I figured since I’m here already…and…I could…only if your plan…you can make time for me…I can help you with…y’know…” he gestured vaguely to the boxes next to her. Geneva bit her lip softly. And nodded.

“I’ll let you know.” And then she’d gestured to the door and said “I made breakfast. If you want any.” And Bucky nodded, said thank you, turned and promptly ran into one of the office’s double doors.

And he was still thinking about the soft smile that rose to her mouth when he’d apologized to it, five hours and halfway through _Holes_ later; he was sure that might have been the first time he ever made her smile, period. The thought, of how the corner of her mouth curled, of how she looked a little while after, (when he’d peeked through the ajar door, after situating himself on the couch in front of Geneva’s office in the living room) with her glasses on, typing as Steve’s and her voices mingled with Florence and the Machine’s _Ceremonials_ made him blush, just a bit. She was so fucking beautiful, especially while she wrote.

She was really in her element here, he could tell. And it was understandable; the world felt so fucking serene from where he sat. The soft clicking of keys as she typed and the music gently playing from the Sonos speakers had lulled him to sleep at least three times in the past five hours. He was almost afraid to let himself love this place; after all, it felt unlikely that he’d ever be allowed back here again.

But maybe not? It was a little weird now between them, and that interaction confirmed it; they used to snipe at each other, with zero regard for appropriateness or the comfort of whoever else was around. It was easy. But once he’d seen her like _that_ , the stakes were real. Now he could actually see what he was missing out on, what he was trying toget, and it made him want it with an intensity he hadn’t had before. And it made him second guess everything, it pushed him back on his heels. Now, when he looked at her, all he could see was the roll of her hips, his name sliding between her curled lips, and he could tell that she could see it in his eyes too.

He expected disgust that morning. He’d expected her to really let him have it; after all, he violated her privacy, he deserved her anger. But she was being…civil. Far more civil than usual. It unnerved him, like she was planning some kind of retaliation.

But she wasn’t; she was just…quiet.

She was never this fucking quiet.

Bucky bit his bottom lip, raked his right hand through his hair, before pulling it back into a ponytail. The clock on the mantelpiece pointed at 5 and 10; sunlight washed over the floor in front of his feet. He stood and gently edged into Geneva’s office, knocking lightly as he went.

“Hey.” He stuttered into silence as she looked up from her laptop, tapping pause.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice raspy from disuse. “What do you want?”

“I was uh…gonna make…y’know…” he mimed flipping something in a frying pan. “So you can uh…keep…” he mimed typing. “Any preferences for, uh…” he mimed eating. Geneva squinted at him.

“I am a writer, you know this, so I implore you to use your words from this point on.” Bucky nodded. “Cool. So do you wanna repeat that chain of sentence fragments or do you trust that I understood that series of pantomimed gestures and mumbling?” Bucky nodded again.

“Yeah, uh…dinner? Preferences? Allergies? I’m gonna cook.”

“ _Can_ you cook?” Bucky tilted his head to the side.

“Well, I was the only child of a Jewish mother, I survived the Great Depression, and Steve and I were roommates for a year when we were teenagers, and he never starved, so yeah, I’m a fantastic cook.”

“You can keep people alive, what a ringing endorsement.” Bucky sighed.

“Would you like dinner or not?”

“Yes, thank you,” Geneva said, after a moment. “I don’t have any allergies.”

“Aside from most of the spectrum of human emotion, got it.”

“Fuck you, Bucky.”

“I’m game if you are.” Geneva stuttered; Bucky whirled around and their gazes locked. She was blushing a little, he could tell.

“I’d rather shove my own leg in a woodchipper,” she shot back. Bucky stared at her five full seconds longer; just when she started to squirm, he smirked. He probably shouldn’t; he literally just apologized for accidentally leering at her only 10 hours ago, but the temptation was too strong. And frankly, this whole denial thing she had going was getting a bit tiresome.

“Right. You’d rather do anything else but let me bend you over your desk and make you come until you beg me to stop.” Geneva tensed; he smiled even wider. “Maybe pull you on top and watch you ride me.” She flinched, and Bucky let out a low laugh. “Oh… you’d _like_ that, wouldn’t you? I’m learning a lot about you today.”

“When do you plan on getting out of my office, Barnes? Any moment between now and the next five seconds would be excellent.” Bucky smiled.

“I’m feeling like…a kale salad. Maybe lamb. You like lamb, right? I’ll go make some lamb.”

“I don’t have kale, I don’t eat kale. I eat collard greens and spinach and I don’t eat anyone’s collard greens but my momma’s and my own.”

“Duly noted.” Bucky stood and watched her for another minute. Geneva looked up from her laptop again.

“What, Barnes?” He probably shouldn’t. He really should just go into the kitchen and make dinner and slowly but surely wear her defenses down that way.

But Zoe was right.

Geneva is hard-headed as fuck.

“Aiight so boom,” Zoe sat up, yawning and squinting in the bright light of her phone; Steve was leaning on the counter of his kitchen, Bucky mirroring his posture on Geneva’s. “I got like fifty-leven texts from Sam and eighty-leven texts from Gen telling me to ignore his texts, what the fuck is going on up there?” Bucky buried his head in his arms.

“You two…are legitimate assholes.” Steve at least had the decency to look contrite; Zoe just stared.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied, sniffily.

“Zoe,” Steve sighed, “the jig is up.”

“Aw, damn, Bucky. How could you have possibly fucked this up?”

“Wh-huh? Fucked _what_ up? How did a rapidly imploding situation that you designed without permission or awareness from either of us suddenly become _my_ fault? In fact, imploding is a polite word for it. If your sister didn’t absolutely hate me before, she one thousand percent hates me now!”

“Geneva doesn’t hate you, dumbass.”

“Holy shit, have you _met_ your sister? The contempt she feels for me radiates from every orifice she has.”

“Not all of them,” Steve muttered. Bucky immediately turned red. He really had to stop telling Steve everything.

“Steven,” Zoe began; the way she covered her face and sighed would have made Bucky laugh if he wasn’t indirectly the cause of the look of anguish in her eyes. “I’m intuiting that your meaning is sexual, and although I am the one that put this Shakespearean plot into motion, I am politely asking that you never put me in the position of thinking of my sister’s genitals ever the fuck again.”

“Fair. Sorry.”

“So based on that request, I suppose you don’t wanna know exactly what happened and what prompted me to wake you up at 11 o’clock at night.”

“You suppose correctly. Just answer these questions. Bucky, did you fuck my sister?”

“No.”

“Not _yet_ ,” Zoe amended, wagging her finger at the screen. Bucky snorted. He had to appreciate her insane optimism. Not to mention her commitment to getting her sister laid, despite her obvious disgust at the concept. “So you didn’t fuck my sister. What the fuck happened?”

“I kind of…caught her in a compromising position.” Zoe blinked. Then coughed. Then laughed. Then let out a nauseated groan that turned into full-blown laughter.

“James,” Zoe said, after she caught her breath. “My sister does not hate you. She’s never hated you. She’s just really embarrassed, probably, and lashing out because she had to look weird and awkward in front of you specifically. Geneva’s astoundingly trash with her own emotions. She’s so in tune with other people’s that when she has to relate to her own, even for someone else’s sake, it’s like playing the weirdest game of telephone.”

“Why would she care about what I think?” Bucky said. “I mean, it’s a compromising situation no matter who i—” Zoe and Steve’s groans nearly harmonized; Bucky was impressed. They must’ve worked that out when they were putting together this unbelievably shitty plan.

“Bucky. Did you not hear Zoe say that Gen is shit with her emotions when they _relate_ to someone _else_?”

“Lemme just cut to the—okay, Bucky?” Zoe waved to get his attention; she readjusted her phone when it slipped off her chest. “My sister? Geneva? The one you’re in the same building with? She likes you. She just doesn’t realize it yet or won’t fess up because she’s a stubborn idiot with no self awareness.” Bucky stared down at his phone. Then pillowed his head in his arms and sank down to the counter. Then sat back up and stared at his screen and propped it up against his mug.

“Steve. When you called me this morning, did you know that she felt this way?” Steve didn’t have to say anything; that was the magic of having known him for his entire life. Bucky could just look at the way he chewed his bottom lip and know he had. “Wow. Sham fucking wow.”

“In my defense—”

“Oh, this should be good.”

“When I called you, I didn’t know how you felt about her was so sincere—”

“Wow, thanks for _that_ , Steve—”

“You know what I mean. I thought all that flirting was performative like usual!”

“Wait,” Zoe fully sat up and stared at her phone, the sleepiness in her voice completely gone. “ _What_?”

“Steve, don’t—”

“And by the time I knew, you were already committed. And if I said anything, you wouldn’t have wanted to—”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Zoe’s tone made Bucky want to run back outside and bury himself in the snow.

“Please don’t, Zoe—”

“Fuck you, you’re gonna answer my question. James. Sergeant Barnes. Zimnij Soldat.”

“Your Russian is terrible,” Bucky muttered.

“Do you have feelings for my sister? Like real, honest-to-Eartha, jelly-kneed feelings for my sister?” Bucky blinked; he should lie. He should definitely lie. But then Steve, fucking Steve who knows him like the back and front of his hand will know that he lied, and then he won’t be able to shut the fuck up about it and then Zoe will probably go off and tell Geneva and then he’ll definitely want to die in the snow like a wolf-boy. So maybe he should win some points with Zoe by telling the truth? But fuck, what if she just mercilessly teases him? Wait, she wouldn’t be so cruel; Zoe may be prickly, but she is kind. Maybe that explains why Geneva—

“Oh my God,” Zoe gasped. “You absolutely have real feelings for my sister!”

“Zoe—” Bucky’s throat tightened; he avoided Steve’s gaze and focused on her. “I don’t—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Barnes,” Zoe said. Bucky fell silent. Steve was opening his mouth.

“Steve—” Bucky started.

“Listen, maybe we shouldn’t make him—”

“ _Steve_.”

“Alright Bucky,” Zoe began. “Listen to me. Seriously.”

“Zo—”

“Steven, quiet.” Steve froze, then leaned back, nodding. Zoe’s gaze locked on Bucky, and then he really wanted to run away. “Bucky. This may sound impossible to you, but Geneva really does like you. She just doesn’t fucking know how to deal with her feelings. She never has. It’s really hard for her, and she never sees it unless you spell it out for her. So you gotta just…”

“What, tell her how I feel?” Bucky snorted. Zoe shrugged.

“Yeah, basically.”

“She’ll laugh in my face. She’ll kick me—”

“She _won’t_. I am telling you this from _personal_ experience, from fucking what, 20+ years of empirical evidence, that my sister is into you. Do you like her? Like genuinely?”

Bucky sighed.

Bucky’s phantom arm was scary in theory, but not in actual practice. Main reason being, even though his arm was responding to impulses and not to conscious decisions, it was nice because it was responding to _his_ impulses, and no one else’s. He’d spent so long trying to reclaim his body, trying to trust his thoughts and feelings again, trying to feel something and not be afraid of it, that the thought of denying anything that felt truly organic and connected to his real self, was fucking absurd.

“Of course.” Of course he liked her. Fucking of course. Having to say it out loud when it felt so obvious that it came off him in waves whenever he was around her was the absurd part. He never really tried to cloak it; it pretty much radiated off him at every given moment.

And he knew how disconcerting that could be. So when he was around her, he just masked the worst of it with harmless flirtation, because there was no way she felt the same, right? It was up to him to deal with his feelings in a healthy way, and not burden her with it, right?

“Of course?” Zoe repeated. But of course he had to say it. Because for everything he liked about her, fucking hell, that woman was oblivious.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed; he slumped into a barstool. “I like her a lot, and it’s really damn clear that I like her, it’s so fuckin’ obvious that Steven fuckin’ Strange, who don’t give a fuck about no one, or pay attention to fuckin’ nothin’, noticed the last time he deigned to grace Avengers Tower with his presence. And you would think, that if Dr. Not So Magic Stick Strange would notice that shit, the person it’s being directed to would, because ding damn dong, I have not! Been subtle! At all! But here we are! With me at wit’s end and no other way to say I like you other than I fucking like you! Which she’d never believe, according to you—”

“I didn’t say that.” Bucky stared, wide eyed.

“Yes, you did, you just said—”

“No,” Zoe wagged her finger, and Bucky was seized with an unbelievable urge to smack her hand away from her camera. “I did not say that. I said ‘she never sees it unless you spell it out for her’. So if you just fucking say it, you just make her deal with it, her emotions I mean, then she won’t kick you out, and you won’t want to disappear into the woods of upstate New York.”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again. Then shut it. Steve raised his hand after a long stretch of silence.

“If you weren’t sure that Bucky liked Geneva that way, why did you set this up?” Zoe grinned sheepishly.

“Well, at first it was just to annoy the fuck out of her. And I mean, there’s been some activity up by Lake Placid on the SPLC hate map, so I thought—”

“Sending her a bionic-armed Soviet trained bodyguard would be good for just in case,” Bucky murmured, barely listening. Zoe nodded.

“Yeah! But since now I have confirmation that you both are super into each other, it’s now my moral obligation as a younger sibling to make this shit happen. So! Bucky…fucking tell her, and don’t ever call me in the middle of the night again unless New York’s being invaded. Peace, losers.” She flipped them off and the phone went dark. Steve and Bucky locked eyes and Steve snorted.

“Who the fuck do we blame for knowing these women?” Steve laughed.

“Thor,” Bucky sighed, smiling wearily. “Fucking Thor.”

“That _motherfucker_.”

“You like me,” Bucky said. The silence that fell immediately after almost made Bucky think he hadn’t spoken out loud. But he had; Geneva had stopped typing. A moment passed. She hit pause on the recording. She slipped her glasses off her face and met his gaze.

“James,” she murmured. “You have point two seconds to get out of my office.”

“Now, uh…” Bucky walked toward her desk and sat in the chair across from her. “Normally I’d listen. Normally I’d nod and smile and leave your office and we’d pick this not-flirting-flirt session back up at dinner in an hour. But.”

“But?” Geneva said, after a longer moment of silence.

“I have it on good authority that you like me—”

“Fucking Zoe Caroline, I’m gonna kill her—”

“And I like you.” Geneva stared at him. Then abruptly rose from her seat.

“I’m not listening to this,” she muttered, storming through the door. Bucky stared at the apple shaped icon on the back of her laptop until it dimmed and went dark. Then he sighed softly and followed her into the kitchen.

“Geneva,” Bucky stopped short; Geneva was wielding a massive knife; she brandished the head of lettuce she’d been chopping it with at him.

“James,” she fired back. “Whatever you’re about to say doesn’t fucking need to be said, so let’s just hit delete on that and move on.”

“No.”

“No?”

Bucky leaned against the other side of the island. “Fucking no.”

“Alright, listen—”

“No,” he sighed. “You listen babe. We both know you’re not gonna kick me out and we both know you can’t really make me do anything I don’t want to do. What I don’t wanna do is shut the fuck up. What I do wanna do,” ( _aside from you_ , he thought very loudly but didn’t say) “is say some things, and depending on how you feel, you can address them, or you can ignore me until you decide to jump on me and stick your tongue down my throat again. And don’t deny that it happened, because we both know it did.” Geneva dropped the lettuce on the counter and sighed.

“Can I just say, like, one thing?”

“No. So,” Bucky planted his elbows on the counter. “Three nights ago, you kissed me. Right after I basically gave you an out on ever speaking to me again. You kissed me twice. So I’ve gotta assume that you at least want to do that again.”

“I was _wasted_ —”

“We were both _drinking_ , but we were definitely not that _drunk_ , or that night would have ended much differently. Being drunk is not an excuse for you. If anything, it backs me up. And I’m not _done_ , babe. Please fucking let me get this out.” Geneva’s brow furrowed, her lip curling, but she nodded and waved for him to continue.

“Thank you. Fact of the matter is. I like you. I liked kissing you. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, but I didn’t, because I was very much getting the sense that you absolutely didn’t want to. So do you see how this has been a very confusing two days for me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I allowed to speak now?”

“No. The way I see it, the only way for us to start moving in the right direction is for you to just come out and say that you like me. _Wait_.” Geneva closed her mouth again and swatted at him. “But before you do that, I want you to consider this. I want you to think about the fact that I have said that I like you. That I want to get to know you. And hang out with you. And listen to you talk. That I think you’re smart, and sharp as a fuckin’ whip, and funnier than hell, and beautiful as I don’t know what, and that I really enjoyed the story you got published in the Paris Review. And yes, I absolutely got a Paris Review subscription just so I could read it. And I also have a Granta subscription, but that’s just because I’ve been reading Granta since I was a kid, so imagine my surprise when I’m flicking through the fuckin’ thing and see your byline and read it and then I’m on the couch in the middle of my fucking apartment in my boxers like ‘fuckin’ great, as if I need another reason to be into this girl that fuckin’ hates me’, but you don’t. You don’t hate me. You are this woman…this _person_ whose work I really fuckin’ respect, who is smart, and kind, and thoughtful, and fucking funny, and loyal to a fuckin’ fault, and so infuriatingly stubborn, and a deeply irritating know-it-all smartass, who is probably the hottest person I’ve ever met, and I like you a lot.

“And I know I don’t have to say this for you, because you’re gonna do whatever you want, you’re smart like that, but I don’t expect you to feel obligated to like me back just because. I don’t think, if you do hate me and Zoe was just bullshittin’ me, that you’re gonna like me or have to like me just because I said all this, but. I guess. If you do, just know that the feeling is mutual. More than mutual. I probably like you way too much. I still genuinely feel fuckin’ awful about seeing you while you were getting yourself off, but I’m not gonna lie, you have an amazing body and I kind of can’t stop thinking about it.” Geneva stared at him. “Please say something.”

She gently placed the knife on her counter, then circled around the island until they stood at opposite ends of the same side. Bucky shifted from one foot to the other, his metal arm whirring softly. A blush immediately bloomed across his face, his gaze darting down to the tiles at his elbow. Her throat was tight; she felt giddy, high, too high to trust her voice, her pulse too quick, her skin constricting. She shut her eyes.

This could not possibly be fucking happening. This was…she didn’t even know, every time she thought about the wide realm of possibilities before her now, now that he…

She wanted to run. Giddiness turned to fear, then anticipation, then giddiness again.

She didn’t move, for a long time.

_What’s the worst that can happen?_

She imagined him, kissing her softly as she read to him on the couch a couple feet beyond the kitchen. Him, with his arms around her as they lay in the bathtub, her tracing the water droplets on his bionic forearm. Him, holding her first draft, wrapped in her favorite blanket, laughing as he argued with her about the way Steve recounted a story.

Him, moving over her, pressing her into the mattress until she couldn’t move, making her sigh against his lips.

Him, stopping her on the stairs for a soft kiss as they carried his things into her apartment.

Him, laughing as Zoe recounts this story at their rehearsal dinner.

Him, curled around her, his hand stretched protectively across her swollen belly.

_Fuck_.

She blinked and their gazes locked; she took him in, his hair in a sloppy bun at his neck (just waiting for her to muss it), tendrils of soft brown hair framing his face, a gray henley stretching across his broad chest(begging to be ripped from him), the fused section of his arm peeking out of the neck. He had surprisingly delicate collarbones; her mouth began to water at the sight of them. He was tall, too; taller than her by at least half a foot, something that she’d strived to ignore, but once brought to her attention, had not been in a rush to forget. He must be profoundly self-conscious when he’s out of uniform too, because his shirt is baggy, loose around his arms, arms that she knew were defined as hell. He had an easy grace about his movements; it could be the 70 years of programming still lingering, but his physical awareness was a marvel. He knew where he was in space, how much he took up. He could pull the air out of the room in seconds, if he wanted to. Geneva envied him that, just a little, that comfort. That surety and confidence in his mind, in what he wanted, in how he could use his body to get it. The slick sense of how easy it’d been for him to lift her off her feet, how overwhelming he’d felt as he pressed her between him and the brick of the threshold three nights ago, ran through her like a lightning bolt.

He wanted her. He _wanted_ her. She could see it in the tension in his neck, the way his hand laid across the counter.

And…maybe.

No.

There was a part of her. A massive part—

_No_.

Underneath the flippancy, the detachment, the anxiety, the insecurity.

_No—_

His eyes met hers again; this time, he wasn’t shy about it, wasn’t timid about the way his eyes roamed over her body, lingering, as she did the same. Geneva felt white hot heat rise in her chest as she met his gaze, and before she could stop herself, before that little voice in the back of her head tried to lie to her again, tried to tell her that she didn’t feel this way and she wasn’t allowed to, she stepped forward. Moving, slow and deliberate, until she was within arm’s length.

Bucky can recall this part with almost frightening accuracy.

She stepped into his space. Bucky’s left arm came up almost immediately to wrap around her, but she caught it and his right in her hands, and placed them on the counter on either side of him. Then she’d planted her hands on the counter, next to his hips, gone to her tiptoes, and leaned in close to him, her face inches away from his. She smelled like shea butter and jasmine, earthy and expensive. 

Her eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips; she leaned closer, their noses grazing.

“Don’t fucking call me babe,” she murmured. Bucky raised his hands to her waist and yanked her to him. She gasped softly; he cupped the back of her head and pulled her close, their eyes locked on each other, sharing breath, their lips tantalizingly close.

“One condition,” he whispered. He turned in place and pressed her between himself and the counter. “Tell me how much you want me.” Geneva’s eyes went wide as she searched his face; he wasn’t lying. Her lips came together; her glare sliced through him like a knife, sparking a reckless heat in his chest.

She leaned forward to kiss him; Bucky jerked his head away, bit his lip. He gripped the hair at the nape of her neck and tilted her head back, his eyes flitting down to the line of her throat.

“Come on, babe,” he whispered. “You’re a writer. I implore you to use your words.”

“Fuck you, Bucky.”

“You could if you were honest.” Before she could fire back, he lifted her and dropped her onto the counter. Geneva drew her knees together tight. “Open your legs, doll.” Geneva crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. He smirked at her; her jaw tightened. “If you’re trying to make a point, it’s not landing.”

Geneva was silent. Bucky pressed his palms along the top of her thighs, and leaned against them, not pulling apart, just pushing down, down against the counter. He was surprised; he knew she was a runner, but her legs were far more muscular than he’d anticipated. Bucky rested his hands lower, just above her kneecap and squeezed the skin there, softly.

“Gen…doll,” he sighed. “I’m gonna need some feedback here.” Geneva’s lips tightened, but he felt the tension in her legs begin to dissipate, slowly. His gaze flickered down to where his hands rested, feeling her muscles shift under the soft fabric of her dress. Bucky’s hands brushed down over her knees, rested softly against the skin of her shins, just below the hem of her dress. “C’mon,” he whispered. His eyes locked on hers again. “Last time I’ll ask. Promise.” Geneva’s chin tipped up at him, but then he felt it, the warm muscles softening under the gentle grip of his hands. He pushed, gently, testing, and her thighs came apart, slow, gradual. Bucky stepped forward, the tips of his fingers slipping under the edge of her dress. Geneva flinched.

“Sorry,” he whispered; the nails of his flesh hand skimmed against the inside of her thigh. “It’s cold in here. Vibranium has weird temperature control.” Her hips shifted forward on the counter; Bucky wrapped her dress around his left and and dragged it up her right thigh, easy. Geneva unfolded her arms; Bucky froze, his eyes meeting hers, waiting until she pressed her palms on the counter and raised her hips. He shoved the skirt of her dress up to her waist and pulled her toward him; Geneva gasped against his mouth, her palms pressing along his shoulders. He stared up at her, pulling away from her when her lips brushed against his.

“Tell me,” he whispered. Geneva’s lip quivered, softly, but she said nothing. He brought her arms behind her, slowly, and held her wrists in his left hand, holding her against his chest, pulling her off the counter. His right hand hooked into her waistband, and he was pulling her panties down, slow, easy, drunk on her eyes on him, on the catch in her throat as his fingers ran down her leg. He let them drop to the ground next to him.

“Don’t put me back on—”

“I won’t,” he murmured. “I know how messy you can get,” he added, smirking, his right wrapping around her left thigh.

“Fuck you,” she shot back. Bucky’s eyes went soft.

“Where?” He stepped away from the counter and pressed her back flush against the wall. “Here?” Bucky rolled his hips against her, slow and hard, his cheek brushing against hers. Geneva gasped, arching her back, and his mouth found her neck, lips scrubbing along her throat. “The couch? Your desk? Bathtub? Your bed?” Her eyes met his again. “Say it.”

“Bed,” she sighed. Bucky’s lips found her ear.

“How do you want it?” Geneva’s arms strained against his grip; he forced her to meet his gaze, nipped softly at her lips when she leaned into him. “How? You want me to fuck you with my mouth? My cock? My fingers? You want me to sit back and watch you again? I can lay you out and watch you fuck yourself, thinking about me fucking you. I won’t be able to promise I can keep my hands to myself. You’ve got such a pretty pussy, makes my mouth water just thinking about it.”

Geneva’s eyes slipped closed. Bucky pressed his pelvis into hers and rolled his hips excruciatingly slow.

“Don’t,” she sighed. Bucky stopped immediately and looked at her. Her eyes were closed, shut tight.

“Don’t what?” Geneva shook her head. Bucky almost moved to put her down.

“Please don’t make me say it,” she met his gaze. “I can’t say it.” Bucky raised his free hand to her cheek.

“You know I can’t do that, doll.” Geneva squirmed in his arms. “Just say what you want.” He scrubbed his beard against her jaw until her head went back. He kissed along the line of her neck, softly, shifting his hips against her, his grip tight and unyielding on her wrists, gripping and squeezing the skin of her thigh. “Come on,” he whispered. His teeth found the slope of her neck and he bit, hard enough to make a soft little wail come out of her mouth. “Tell me.”

“Bucky,” she moaned; her wrists twisted in his grip.

“Yeah Gen?” He pressed their foreheads together, watched her bottom lip wobble softly before she pressed her top teeth to it. “What do you want?”

“Kiss me,” she murmured. Bucky let go of her thigh and held her jaw, making her meet his gaze.

“Say it again.” Geneva licked her lips slow; Bucky’s eyes locked on them, he let out a soft, plaintive sigh at the sight of it.

“Kiss me, James. Please.” He moved, slow, to press their mouths together, his eyes locking on hers.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want this.” Her breath seized in her chest, her heart racing. Bucky still held her. His eyes still locked on hers. Waiting for her. Just waiting, patient, but also, _hoping_ , she could see it. Oh fuck. Oh God. “I want you.” Bucky pressed his face along hers, his lips hovering over hers.

“How much do you want me?” Geneva lengthened her spine, rolling her hips forward a little, pushing her shoulders back, feeling her arms strain against his hands. Bucky shivered.

“So bad,” she whispered.

“How bad?”

“It’s all I could think about for days,” she sighed.

Bucky’s lips found hers; they sighed into it, desperate, chasing, seeking, hungry and sweet and wild. Oh _fuck._ Bucky’s right hand found her thigh again.

“Baby,” he panted, breaking away from her. “All you had to do was ask.” He released her wrists. Geneva’s shoulders shifted, letting him bring her hands to his shoulders; Bucky gripped her thighs and hiked her up higher around his waist. 

He pulled away from the wall, and, smiling up at her as he went, walked toward the back of the cabin and pushed open her bedroom door, then sat on her bed, pulling her in to straddle him.

His hands ran up her thighs, up under her dress; she was prepared for it this time, but couldn’t repress the soft shudder that ran up her spine when his metal hand ran across her ass, stretched across her lower back, his right hand creeping up the inside of her thigh. “If you wanted me to touch you like this…” his thumb ran across her clit, rubbing it slowly and softly in circles. Geneva’s eyes closed; she let out a desperate whine, fisting his shirt in her hands. “If you wanted me to kiss you and hold you and fuck you until you beg me to stop, all you had to do was ask.” Bucky slipped his fingers into her and Geneva groaned, her eyes opening and locking on his.

She surged forward, pressing her mouth against his. Bucky gasped, softly; his arms came around her and he pulled her tight to him.

“Fuck,” he breathed when they broke for air. He met her gaze; Geneva felt giddy and high again, from the look of soft desire on Bucky’s face, the bright electric of the kiss still lingering on her lips, the cool-warmness of the metal pressed against her back. She let her cardigan slip from her shoulders, then pressed her fingertips to his lips, softly and smiled, brushing her lips against his again.

“Barnes,” she whispered. “Come on.” Bucky’s hands tangled in her dress and he groaned, hard, yanking it upward, his mouth finding hers after he flung it to the ground. She cupped his face, scrubbing her nails down his neck, fisting in the front of his shirt. Her fingers crept down the center of his chest and he groaned, hissing against her mouth when she sat up on her knees and gripped him through his sweatpants.

“Take these off,” she sighed. Bucky twisted his arm around her and flipped them over, smiling as she laughed breathlessly into his mouth, pressing her into the duvet. She pulled his shirt upward, and he followed her, slipping it over his head and tossing it down next to her dress. Geneva’s eyes trailed over his chest; she trailed her fingers across the soft skin of his stomach. He began to blush; just a little.

“I’m not as—”

“Shhhh,” Geneva murmured. She sat up on an elbow, pushing her hand into his sweatpants, smiling into the hot inhale-exhale of his kiss, her fingers wrapping around his shaft. “Don’t apologize.” She squeezed tighter, laughing breathlessly into the hitch in his throat. “You don’t need to.”

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“I’m trying, James,” she bit into the skin of his collarbone and he flinched above her, scrubbing his chin down the side of her face and pushing into a sharp and bruising kiss. He pushed her thighs apart, fingers trembling as he drew his sweatpants down his hips, and gripped the crease of her hip, and wrapped his fingers around hers wrapped around him, and stared down at the pink wetness of her.

“Do you have any rubbers?” He whispered, hissing softly, distractedly following her as she drew her hand up and down his length.

“I’ve got an iud, Barnes,” she murmured, twisting her hand as she reached the tip of him; his hips jerked forward. “No Merry Widows required.”

“Thank _fuck_ ,” Bucky pressed into her, and Geneva tossed her head back, sucking in a soft, sharp breath, shivering, Bucky’s mouth scratching along the underside of her chin.

His gaze went soft, his jaw slack as he felt her, warm and wet and so gloriously tight, around him. “ _Fuck_.” He buried his face into her shoulder, panted softly against her collarbone. “Christ…”

Her hands crept along his arms, digging into skin, scrabbling along metal until he gripped her wrists again and pressed them into the bed above her head. She hissed.

“Bad shoulder,” she groaned, softly. Bucky shifted his grip, slightly, and Geneva followed suit, angling her elbows out and open. He braced his weight against her wrists, his metal hand gripping the meatiest part of her thigh, and he rolled his hips, sighing into her neck when she clenched around him.

“My neck,” she murmured, softly. Bucky turned to meet her gaze. She tilted her head back. Bucky stared down the line of her throat.

“Do you want me to…” he squeezed her wrists. He felt her thigh muscle tense against his hip. She rolled her hips, nodded slowly.

“Yes, please,” she sighed. Bucky let her wrists go; her fingers twisted into the sheets above her head as his trailed down her arm, gently across her collarbone, then up to the column of her throat. “Wait.” Bucky froze.

“What?” Geneva’s hand found his wrist.

“Not like that,” she said. “Squeeze the sides. Don’t press down, just—” he gripped gently, and Geneva gasped, her eyes fluttering closed. “Mm,” she bit her bottom lip gently. “Like that.” He squeezed a little harder, and Geneva sighed; she clenched around him and he flinched, his hand squeezing her throat even harder.

“Fuck,” she rasped, she rolled her hips. “C’mon, Barnes. Keep up.” His mouth found hers, and he pulled down, pressing hard and sharp into her. They moaned in unison, Geneva’s teeth finding his bottom lip and biting. “ _That’s_ it.”

“You like that?” He whispered against her neck. Geneva turned her head, buried her face into his ear.

“Mhm,” she sighed. Bucky spread his knees, spread her legs wider, dug his knees into the mattress, gently pressed his hand down against her collarbone, rooting her to the bed. His metal hand came up, fingers spread against the wall behind her headboard.

The first roll and hard thrust and roll of Bucky’s hips made a shudder slip down her spine; her knees bracketed his waist, one of her legs looping around to draw him in closer. He could feel her pulsing around him, tight, and warm, and soft, and so fucking wet he could hear her almost as well as he felt her; he huffed a laugh against her collarbone and bit down.

“Harder?” Bucky mouthed along her shoulder.

“Deeper,” she shot back in a gasp. Bucky paused, only for a second, then sat up, yanked her leg around to press against his torso, then gripped her thigh, pulling her onto him harder and faster. “Oh _fuck…! Bucky!_ ”

“Yeah, doll?” He panted; she was tensing under him, around him, and it was nearly fucking impossible to keep it together, but his eyes were locked on her face, on the curve of her neck, the softness of her open, beautiful mouth, the hazy ecstasy in her gorgeous, half-lidded brown eyes, the thin black lace of her bra just barely covering the deep brown of her nipples. _Fuck_.

“I’m gonna come,” she moaned, softly.

“You better,” Bucky growled. His hand slipped down her thigh, across, until his thumb found her clit. Geneva let out a sharp cry. “You fucking _better_.” Geneva sucked in a sharp breath, then keened, her back arching into a sharp curve. Bucky stiffened, his back locking as he came, rolling into the slippery tight wetness of her.

Geneva pulled in a sharp breath, shivers waving out along her arms and chest. Her body felt electric, warm and loose and—

“Fuck—” she flinched; her eyes opening. Bucky smirked down at her; what the fuck—?

Bucky’s thumb rolled against her clit again, and she gasped, her eyes fighting to stay open.

“Oh doll,” Bucky slipped his dick out of her and slid three of his metal fingers in, rolling his thumb around her clit slow and easy. Geneva’s hands went around both his wrists, whimpering through the iron grip at her throat and the tight slip of his fingers in and out of her cunt. They locked eyes, and the corner of Bucky’s mouth curled.

“You didn’t think I’d let you off that easy, did you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on the last chapter but I NEEDED to get this OUT or I was gonna McFreakin' LOSE IT.
> 
> Hope y'all like it!


	6. Feels Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky does some obfuscating, Geneva does some confessing, and Steve does some unintentional spying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: "Feels Good" by Tony! Toni! Toné!

Geneva felt high, cloudy. Loose and soft in a way she hadn’t felt in…oh. _Fuck_.

She turned her head; she’d fallen asleep lying across Bucky’s chest, sometime around 2 am, riding him until they passed out. She could still feel his fingers lazily ghosting up and down her spine, the soft breeze of his breath across her forehead. The bed was empty, her face smushed into the pillowcase.

The blinds were open, the sky slate grey and overca— _Jesus…!_

Geneva’s legs curled; Bucky huffed as he shoved her thighs apart again.

“Stop wiggling so fuckin’ much,” he grumbled. His mouth dropped back to her clit.

“Sorry,” she sighed, arching her back. Bucky grabbed a handful of her ass and pulled her tighter to his mouth; she buried the side of her face in the pillow. “Forgot that I set an annoying one-armed alarm—”

Bucky’s fingers curled into her cunt and Geneva let out a soft, high-pitched whine, her fingers curling into her pillowcase.

“Yeah, you sound real fuckin’ annoyed,” Bucky murmured. Geneva opened her mouth to fire back, but Bucky’s tongue slipped into her, and she went rigid, her arm flying back to sink her fingers in his hair.

“God _damn_! Fuck just…shut up and lick.”

“Mm. _Yes_ m’am.”

Bucky…has a massive fucking problem.

It’s not a problem by the standard (classical, even) definition of the word, but it is certainly a fucking issue, at least.

He’s got a great life; he likes the work he does, and by virtue of that fact, he doesn’t have to be brainwashed to do it. He likes his friends; he has good ones, funny and steadfast ones that love him just as much as he loves them. He has a strong sense of self; he knows who he is, what he wants, and more importantly, what he needs and how to get it.

He also has a girlfriend.

Well…a girl who’s a friend.

Or uh…a girl who he’s _with_.

Yeah, okay, that works.

And. Well _fuck_.

She’s perfect (for him [he thinks, at least], and also quite _literally_ perfect, fuck does he adore her); she’s a damn genius, smart as all hell, and an astoundingly excellent writer; she’s funny, one of the funniest people he’s ever met; she’s drop dead gorgeous, just a look from her will make him go weak in the knees. And…well, his real problem is that.

He can’t keep his hands off her.

He’s ravenous. Insanely, intensely desperate for her. She’s embarrassingly constant in his mind, always existing in the back somewhere. Making her laugh. The little furrow between her brows when she’s thinking. How she cracks her knuckles and does a quick finger flutter when she’s writing. The way she bites into her bottom lip after she’s come. How her eyelashes fall over her cheeks on Sunday mornings, when he wakes up before her. How her body curls into his when they walk together.

And fuck’s sake forbid that he’s horny. Then even the _thought_ of her body in his hands turns him into a fucking madman.

Like now, for instance.

“Bucky,” she whimpered, softly. He moaned in reply, shoving her hips higher up, making her back arch even further, pulling her tighter to his mouth. _Fuck._

Geneva dug into the pillow, burrowing her face. She could feel the thumb of his right arm gently circling against the inside of her knee, brushing upward to press into her clit. “ _Oh…!_ ”

She couldn’t see, rather felt his smirk, and she huffed, smiling despite herself. “Shut _up_!”

Bucky would never tell her this, because he’d hate for her to think that his lo… _oof_. His…intense _like_ of her had been purely based on physical attraction, but the first thing he’d ever noticed about her were her legs.

To be fair, there was a lot to appreciate about her; when he and Sam walked into the bar that night, she and Steve were firing their worst pick-up lines back and forth across a table to everyone’s amusement, and considering 1.) Steve got his best ones from Bucky, and 2.) Geneva really was an excellent writer, she was coming up with some killer ones. Sam, whose main trauma coping mechanism was to take care of other people before they could ask about him, jumped in with aplomb once Steve tagged out, and he’d tried to get Bucky involved, but Bucky’s mood was so withdrawn and dark, Sam eventually gave up. But Bucky was having a great time watching Sam and everyone else have a good time, and Geneva was a fucking _sight_ ; either Team Normie had been out having a good time before, or had been planning on going out after this bar, but Geneva looked _good_. She’d opted to wear blue and green plaid shorts with navy suspenders, a black muscle t-shirt and stockings, and Dr Martens; Bucky could tell, from the lace and bit of leather peeking out from just under her hem, that she was wearing a garter belt.

For weeks afterward, he’d had countless dreams of her wrapping those legs around him and pressing her lips against his, teasing him until he gave in, slamming her against a wall, his hands tangling in the straps of the garter belt he was sure she wore, and fucking until both of them were spent.

The next time he saw her was the first time Team Normie was invited to the Avengers movie night, and also coincidentally the night they were awarded the name Team Normie. In an effort not to stare at her chest (specifically her gorgeous maroon colored bra, peeking out from behind the thin grey linen muscle tank she wore, over destroyed denim shorts) and to force himself to listen to what she was saying at the time, he’d spent too much time staring at her mouth, covered in matching maroon lipstick, and _then_ he started wondering what it would be like to kiss her, to feel her whimper vibrate against his bottom lip, how those lips would look wrapped around his dick, what it would be like to lick and kiss the skin on her sternum.

After that, all bets were off; he’d imagine them in about a thousand compromising positions per day: her, bent over the desk in the conference room, touching herself, beckoning him closer; her, pressed between him and the massive glass window in the main living room, digging her nails into his neck, moaning in his ear; her, getting fucked from behind in the third floor hallway, right on the mirror…her palms pressed against the glass to steady her…Bucky’s left arm looped around her waist, fingers pressing sharp against her clit, his other hand pressing into her shoulder, holding her in place as he screws her brains out, utterly wrecking her…asking her who she belongs to and laughing triumphantly as she says his name…he’d had to retire to his room in the middle of a debrief and sort those feelings out after that particular one.

By the time he’d seen her at the next movie night, it was almost excruciating to look her in the eyes, knowing what they’d done in his imagination; knowing what he’d wanted to bring into real life.

He’d been staring at her, sat down on the floor, her feet tossed onto Sam’s lap in the middle of watching _Get Out_. This time his eyes locked on the freckles scattered across her brown cheeks and nose, first imagining what she looked like when she came, then, to his complete shock, imagining how her freckles would look on a son that looked like him. His eyes had flickered up to hers, perhaps trying to knock himself back into sense, and realized that she was staring back. His heart started racing as he looked away, his eyes locking back on the screen again. He watched for 15 minutes, waiting for the auction scene to end, before he risked another look at her.

She was staring at him. Assessing him. Her eyes slowly tracking over him. He froze; she stared at him for another moment, until Bucky smiled at her; more of a smirk than anything else. Her eyes narrowed before she looked away, back to the screen. He felt hot all over, nervous. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Steve absentmindedly pulled an afghan over his arms and pat slapped his face. He barely noticed. Bucky didn’t even notice the movie anymore. He was crawling out of his skin from anxiety. He didn’t know what to do now. The hot new girl thought he was a weirdo. _Fuck_.

So he’d done the most sensible thing; he’d thrown caution to the wind and started shamelessly flirting with her. Considering that this was completely normal behavior for him, his fellow Avengers didn’t bat an eyelid. Team Normie greeted it with glee, even. But Geneva, who was far more observant than Bucky had given her credit for (and he’d repeatedly kicked himself for being both creepy and obtuse at the time), greeted this new turn in his personality with suspicion and disdain. Which was understandable, he’d been a weird lurking weirdo the first two times they met, she probably noticed him staring at her, and now she had to contend with him being loud and funny and boisterous and flirting with her every 10 minutes. He dialed it back every other time he saw her after that, mainly because the more he hit on her ironically, fully meaning it, the more it hurt when she shot him down.

Despite the material circumstances of their relationship, there wasn’t much that changed in their dynamic once they started…whatever this was. Bucky still shamelessly flirted with her, especially when he’d get a bit drunk. Geneva still shot him down at almost every opportunity. The main difference being that once they managed to get away from other people, Bucky would lay her out across the nearest flat surface and—

Geneva threw her head back, pressing against his shoulder, and his mouth found hers, licking, biting, seeking, smirking into her soft whimpers. He rolled two fingers across her clit and she clenched around him, arching away from him, against the arm holding her tight against him. Bucky rolled his hips, and she let out a loud scream, her hands digging into his hair.

“Fuck…I…” her voice went high and breathy. Bucky kissed her again, holding her in place, rutting into her hard, sending her over the edge and following right after.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes,” Geneva laughed; she turned over to meet his gaze. “I think we might have set a record this time around.”

He snorted as he handed her a glass of water he’d just taken a sip from. “Last Monday we hit 6 before 10 am.” Geneva furrowed her brow as she took a sip.

“Sorry,” she leaned over him to place the glass back on the table, and Bucky’s arm curled around her, lazily brushing his nails down her back. “Are you counting rounds? Because I’m counting orgasms.” He snorted.

“In that case we beat that literally the next morning,” Bucky rolled over her, slow, then pressed his mouth against her collarbone. “Let’s _really_ go for a record.” Geneva groaned as he pulled her legs around his waist.

“Come on, Barnes,” she laughed. “I don’t have a refractory period like you—” He nipped at the sensitive skin on her belly, smirked as she shivered. “That fuckin’ beard does a lot of the work for you, you know.”

“Don’t be a quitter, Cricklow,” he sighed. He buried his chin against the soft skin of her stomach and she shivered again. “Haven’t heard any complaints from you about my beard before.”

“I don’t have any complaints about your beard, just your unreasonable reliance on—” Bucky pulled her thighs over his shoulders and licked her clit; Geneva let out a loud gasp, her back arcing into a sharp c. “Fuck! Bucky….oh God…wait, I was serious, I can’— _ah!_ ” Bucky let out a soft little groan.

“I’ll never get tired of the way you taste, doll,” he fastened his mouth around her clit.

“Shit, James, holy fucking _shit_ —” He slipped his fingers into her and Geneva let out a soft wail. “Wait, oh fuck, please wait, just—” Bucky’s head shot up.

“Hm?” He murmured innocently, his eyes twinkling. Geneva glared down at him.

“Don’t fuckin’ ‘hm?’ me, you little fucker.” Bucky’s thumb pressed down on her clit gently, and worked it in a slow circle.

“Don’t tell me you stopped me just to say that.” Geneva’s phone buzzed on the side table. She looked over at it, then down at him. “Don’t answer it.” He licked a long slow stripe from her cunt to her clit, and Geneva shivered. “Or do. I’ll be down here either way.” Geneva rolled her eyes as she reached for her phone.

“I was _going_ to say you might have a hard time getting another orgasm out of me at this poi—Jesus _Christ!_ ” Geneva grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled, sharp. “James, you need to get the fuck out, _now_.”

Bucky sat up, immediate. “What the—”

“Bea, Zoe, and Elle are on the fucking elevator right now.” Bucky cursed, loudly, then hopped up, scrambling to grab his jeans. Geneva hastily yanked on her robe. “You can take the stairs—”

“Eva?” Beatrix’s voice rang out. “You awake?” A muffled thump came from behind the bedroom door, then the sound of pots and pans. The two of them froze, then locked eyes. Geneva snatched up his boots and flung them at him.

“New plan. Fire escape.”

“My shirt is in the—” Geneva ripped a drawer open.

“Gen?”

“Just a minute!” She turned and threw one of her shirts at him. Bucky snorted.

“Never would have thought you liked The Clash.” Geneva shoved him toward the window.

“I’m a socialist, and you have to go.” Bucky slipped easily out of the window.

“Did you forget I’m a super spy, doll? We’re good. Or y’know. We can just tell your sister and your best friends and my best friends so we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

“Bucky…I’m sorry, I just—” Bucky sighed, gently brushed his hand across her chin, and pulled her toward him, pressing a soft kiss to her cheekbone.

“It’s okay. Really. I just really fucking like you.”

“I…” A knock sounded at the door. “Fuck. I’m sorry. You gotta go.”

He nodded. “See you tonight, doll.”

“Just a minute!” She called. Then turned back to the window, but he was already gone.

Bucky barely had a moment to breathe when he got back to the tower before Steve accosted him.

“Where have you been for the past two days?” Bucky rolled his eyes and flopped onto the couch.

“In my apartment, watching Bill Nye. You know Pluto’s no longer a planet?”

“Do I look like an idiot, Bucky? Don’t you think your apartment was the first place I checked?”

“Steve, I wasn’t on-call this week, so I’m failing to understand what the issue is here.” Steve sat on the coffee table and turned to face him.

“You’ve been different since you got back from Lake Placid, and you won’t talk to me about it.”

“Steve—”

“It’s almost been a month.”

“ _Steve_ —”

“I’m sorry. This thing with Gen clearly went very bad, and I can’t help but think that it’s my fault.”

Bucky sighed. “It’s no one’s fault. It just…mistakes were made. Rejection happened. It’s over. If it was ever on. And if there’s anyone to blame, it’s Zoe.”

Steve snorted. “Fuckin’ Zoe. Eh, we’ll let her slide. She’s too funny to stay mad at.”

“Nah. Thor.”

“Fuck Thor!” Bucky swatted Steve’s arm.

“Alright Captain Ready-To-Box,” Bucky snorted. “Don’t drag our friend just because he fell in love.”

“Fuck that,” Steve laughed. “Love is a neurochemical con job, obviously.”

“Cynicism is a good look on you, Rogers.”

“No it’s not,” Natasha called suddenly; Bucky and Steve jumped in surprise as she walked through the common room toward the elevators. “Cynicism is more your look, Barnes. Didn’t know you liked The Clash.”

“Okay cool thanks Nat!!!”

“The Cl…” Bucky turned to see Steve’s eyes locked on his shirt, then narrowed.

“Never seen that before,” Steve said, slow. Bucky felt a hard blush bloom across his face as Steve’s eyes trailed across his torso and up to his face. “New?”

“To me,” Bucky blurted, quickly. “It’s vintage.” Steve snorted as he tugged on the edge of the sleeve.

“ _Vintage_? Motherfucker, _you’re_ vintage. Huh.” He tilted his head as he leaned closer. “Why does that look so familiar?” Bucky stood up abruptly.

“Sandinista’s a popular album and I need a workout.” Steve snorted.

“Alright! I guess you’ll be around for movie night tonight then?” Bucky froze, a cold slip of dread riding up his spine.

“That’s tonight?” Steve rose to his feet.

“Listen, I get it if you don’t wanna come, since Gen is gonna be here—”

“No, I’m fine…it’s—it’ll be fine. I’m fine.” Steve stared at him. “I am.”

“Okay…” Bucky huffed as he pushed his hair out of his face.

“I am fine, I am going to work out, and when Gen comes over we are not talking about this.” Steve did a thumbs up, and Bucky nodded sharply and stalked off.

“What the fuck was holding you up?” Zoe said, flopping across the couch. Geneva rolled her eyes as she tied her robe tighter around her waist. She hugged Beatrix as she entered.

“I was sneaking someone out of the window, obviously,” she snapped.

“Aiight, if that were true, you wouldn’t have walked out with all that fuckin’ attitude,” Zoe shot back, tossing a pillow in her direction. Geneva caught it mid-air, then threw it back with a tad more force than necessary on her way to her bathroom.

“Hey Ellie.” Elle waved from the kitchen as she whipped something ( _pancake mix, no doubt_ Geneva mused) in a bowl.

“Hey Gen. Was it that whoever you’re seeing?” Geneva’s pocket vibrated; she pulled her phone out, and froze in the threshold of the bathroom door.

Bucky sent her a photo from the bottom of her fire escape; the hem of her shirt between his teeth, a smirk on his lips, the red nail marks she made on his chest and stomach already beginning to fade. _Fuck._

“Perhaps,” she finally managed, locking her phone and shoving it back into her robe.

“You’re not bringing Whoever to movie night, are you?” Beatrix said; she swiped a copy of one of the interviews Geneva had been transcribing before Bucky came over last night off the coffee table and began to skim through it. Geneva turned back to face them.

“Is that tonight?” Zoe sat up.

“ _You_ forgot about movie night? _And_ you’re choosing this week? I’m not trying to be an asshole right now, but are you okay?” Geneva locked eyes with Zoe, then looked over to Beatrix, who was looking at her with a similar expression of concern, then to Elle, who was now also staring at her, Geneva’s waffle iron in her hands.

“Yeah,” Geneva replied, sighing. “I’m fucking fine.” Zoe kneeled at the end of her couch.

“Gen, forreal. You’ve been weird for weeks. And I’ve been assuming that the thing with Bucky has _something_ to do with it—”

“Yeah no shit,” Ellie huffed.

“Okay, yes, we recognize the response from the responsible adult! But, I genuinely thought I was helping,” Zoe went on. “And clearly I did not, and I am really sorry. And if Bucky did something fucking horrible to you, well we both know I can’t beat his ass, but I’ll definitely tell Steve or Thor and Steve might do it, even though he might cry the whole time, but Thor will definitely do it if Beatrix asks him to, so if Bucky did something horrible to you, Thor will fucking light him on fire.”

Geneva snorted, then walked over and smushed her sister’s cheeks between her hands.

“It’s okay Zo Zo. I forgave you a long while ago.” Zoe reached up and squeezed Geneva’s biceps in response.

“You didn’t answer the second part of that.” Geneva sighed.

“Bucky didn’t do anything wrong…it just…I don’t…” Geneva petered out. Zoe sighed, gently patting her shoulders.

“Did you at least let him down easy?” Beatrix murmured.

“I didn’t let him down at all,” Geneva said, softly. Zoe’s head jerked up and her gaze locked on her sister’s.

“You fucking _what_ , mate?” Geneva sighed; Zoe didn’t even turn to look at Elle, who had a similarly befuddled look on her face. Beatrix sputtered, sitting up in the armchair. Zoe’s face began to unfurrow, the corner of her mouth turning up. But they all stayed silent, waiting for Geneva’s answer.

“I didn’t…we may have—”

“ _Fucked_?!” Zoe exclaimed. “Are you telling me that you’ve _fucked_ James Buchanan Barnes?!”

“…yeah.” Elle let the bowl slip out of her hands and let out a loud scream. Geneva, Beatrix, and Zoe jumped.

“Are you _fucking kidding_? We’ve been yelling at you for months to give that man a chance, and the one time you _actually_ do, you leave us in the dark?”

“This is probably just going to make you all angrier at me, but it wasn’t just one time.” Zoe blinked, sputtering as she tried to regain her composure.

“ _Bitch_ ,” she all but snarled. “Are you telling me that you and Bucky have been _smashing_ this _whole fucking time_ , and I have been sucking up and apologizing to you for _no goddamn reason_?”

“Alright,” Beatrix huffed, joining Elle behind the kitchen wall divider; Elle had already picked up the bowl, and was now trying to clean up the batter that spilled. Geneva sighed and went to the kitchen behind her, turning on her sink faucet as she went. “In fairness Zo Zo, you _absolutely_ should have apologized for tricking both of them into getting stranded together, because that wasn’t cool. But…” and she pointed to Geneva then, capturing her attention as Elle took the warm damp rag Geneva offered. “That doesn’t mean _you’re_ completely off the hook for lying to us, especially since you _and_ Bucky both have been fucking weird, and _everyone_ has been thinking that something really horrible happened.”

“Jeez,” Zoe drummed her fingers on the back of the couch, sending her sister an accusing stare. “You two didn’t tell _anyone_ _anything_. Steve called me yesterday asking about you and whether you were okay because Bucky’s been acting so out of character. Sam has been planning to pull up and beat the shit out of Bucky behind this.”

“As if Sam needs a reason to beat up Bucky…”

“Geneva Rae.”

“I know, I _know_ ,” Geneva sighed. “I’m sorry. Bucky didn’t do anything wrong at all. _Nothing_. I’m just…” She felt a knot in her throat and bit her bottom lip.

“Oh Gen,” Zoe joined her in the kitchen and smushed Geneva’s cheeks together, then gently ran her thumbs underneath her sister’s eyes.

“He’s so great and I’m…y’know.”

“Gorgeous?” Zoe said, moving to hug her waist.

“Funny and perfect?” Beatrix chimed in, slinging her arm around her best friend’s shoulders.

“Brilliant beyond reason?” Elle tossed out. She placed the batter bowl in the sink, then pulled her phone out. “Fuck the pancakes. I’m ordering from the deli. Mmmm…the Thursday usual?” They all nodded. Elle hopped up onto the counter as her phone began to ring.

“The main point is,” Beatrix went on, pinching Geneva’s chin. “Is that we want to know if you guys are okay. And _you’re_ saying you’re both okay.”

“Right.”

“So why all the secrecy?” Zoe said. Geneva pulled in a sharp breath, and let out an even sharper sigh. “Was it the fear of the smug ‘I told you so’s? Because I’m only gonna do that for like, a week.”

“No,” Geneva snorted. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…” She went silent, letting her head fall back; she could feel her eyes beginning to burn.

“Oh Gen,” Elle sighed; she hopped off the counter and wrapped her arm around Geneva’s other side, leaning her head into her shoulder. “You deserve to let people love you loudly, you know.” Geneva brought her hands up to her face, sighing past her palms.

Of course, of fucking _course_ ; she knew that, very clearly, very acutely. If anyone else in this room was having the same crisis she was having, she would have flipped out. So why was it so _fucking hard_ to say the same thing to herself?

“Do you like him?” Beatrix murmured. Geneva nodded.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “A lot. _So much_.”

“Does he like you?” Elle chimed in. Geneva nodded again.

“One of the last things he said to me before I sent him out of the window this morning was, and I quote ‘I just really fucking like you.’ Though after the way I kicked him out, I’m sure that’s changed.”

“Girl, _lies_ ,” Zoe snorted. “You should have heard the way he talked about you when he called me and Steve that night in the cabin. He didn’t say _much_ , mind you, but his _face_ while he was saying it…jeez.”

“Gen,” Beatrix said, softly. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re gonna have a really hard time running this one off. He likes you an inordinate amount _and_ he goes to therapy.”

“Oh God,” Geneva snorted; she pulled in a sharp breath, then burst into tears. Beatrix’s arms went tighter around her. Zoe let out a soft chuckle. “I’m gonna have to work on my shit, aren’t I?”

“‘Fraid so,” Elle chirped, propping her chin up on Gen’s shoulder. “That is, if you like him enough to do that.”

“Yeah…I think I do.” Geneva sighed, nodding. Then waved her arms, sniffling and giggling softly. “Okay, let’s break up this _For Colored Girls_ tableau. I need to shower, I smell like fucking and motor oil. _Where_ is my breakfast?” Zoe hissed and retreated from her immediately.

“Fucking gross, dude.”

“ _You’re_ the one who did this, so congrats for having to deal with the aftermath,” Beatrix shot back, shoving her arm lightly.

“Speaking of,” Elle hip checked Zoe out of the circle and tugged Geneva and Beatrix closer, looping her arm around Beatrix’s shoulder. “We need information. Me especially. I have questions. Mainly, does that arm have a vibrating setting?”

“ _Oh My God._ I am going to _bathe._ ”

Holy shit.

She is just so…fucking perfect.

And he’s sure everyone would say that he’s “doing too much” (her included), but she’s also the most fucking beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on, and that’s not even an exaggeration, or hyperbole, or due to the fact that he’s drinking that Asgardian bullshit again. She just fucking is, and he’ll fight _anyone_ who thinks otherwise; he’ll fight _Steve_ , he’ll fight _himself_. Because she’s g-ddamn _stunning_ and he’s _right_ and he _should_ say it.

And he wants to say it, he wants to fucking yell about it, but he’s in polite company (amongst his friends, sure, but still, other people) and she isn’t even here yet, and if he’s going to keep his shit together, he needs to get a little wasted.

He’s wrong, of course, and he recognizes it the minute she walks in because she enters his line of sight and he instantly sobers. It’s like she’s thrown a cold bucket of water over him, put everything in crystal clear high definition.

And she’s fucking _perfect_ ; long pretty auburn braids cascading over her shoulders, dressed in…holy fuck, _his_ shirt, the long sleeved blue henley he left at her place that morning and a pair of blue Adidas shorts that make him want to break things.

And it might be because he’s tap dancing on the edge of wasted (again), and he’s watching her braids drape around her dark, pretty, laughing face (again), but once she dropped off the DVDs in the living room for Sam to sort and rank for voting with everyone else and went to the (empty) kitchen to pick out her snacks, he followed her.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” She froze at the fridge, then turned her head, smiling as her eyes locked on his torso, on him still in her Clash t-shirt.

“You’re wearing mine.” Bucky shrugged, leaning against the island between them.

“Doesn’t look as good on me, though I would discourage wearing this in front of Steve until I can find another matching one, lest we cause suspicion.” Geneva smile faltered, just a bit.

“Hm.” His brow cocked.

“Hm?”

“I just…I’m uh…rethinking some things.” Bucky crossed his arms.

“Oh? Care to share?” Geneva nodded as she pushed the fridge closed.

They fell silent then, Bucky watching her, his head cocked, Geneva staring at the marble countertop between them.

“I’m not one to rush an epiphany,” Bucky began after a long stretch of silence, “therapy, y’know, but I’m just gonna….y’know….slight nudge—”

“Excellent use of your words, J,” she replied, letting out a soft laugh.

“Well, I’m seeing a writer, she keeps me on my toes…I’ve spent a lot of time with my thesaurus—”

“Oof, what’s _that_ like?”

“Supremely educational, I now know ten synonyms for mercurial—”

“I mean dating a writer,” Geneva laughed.

“Well I wouldn’—nah, actually _she_ wouldn’t call it dating, but I would definitely call it dating. She’s too hot for me and she knows it.”

“She sounds like a huge bitch.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Geneva flinched, just a little at the bite of his tone. He immediately uncrossed his arms, his eyes dropping to the countertop. “Sorry. Uh…well yeah, she’s a bitch, but in the best ways. And no one gets to call her that in the worst ways, not even her.”

Geneva shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, her gaze cutting back up to meet his. Then she sighed, soft and sad.

“You know you’re too good for me, right?”

“Geneva—” he began.

“No,” she snapped. “You _are_. I’m mean and hostile and emotionally unstable and actively unavailable, and rude, and you’re so kind—“

“So are you—”

“—and funny—”

“You’re the fucking funniest person I’ve ever—”

“And thoughtful and silly and sweet and ridiculously hot—”

“You’re no slouch yourself—”

“So when I’m cagey about telling people about…I dunno, whatever the fuck this is, it’s more about not setting you up to be disappointed by me later.”

“Woman, are you _fucking kidding_? You’re—”

“James.” He threw his hands up and crossed them again.

“You’re not done. Please finish.” Geneva nodded.

“Thank you. I’m…I’m not as confident as I pretend to be. I’m a walking bisexual disaster, which I’m sure you can relate to, considering you’re best friends with one.”

“I mean, I’m _also_ a walking bisexual disaster, but I see your point.”

“Oh. Well. I didn’t know that actually, I’m gonna need to retain that information for the book. When did you two know about—fuck, nevermind, that’s not the point. The point is…fuck, the point is…”

“You think I’m too good for you, which is patently insane.”

“Bucky—”

“Geneva.”

“ _James_.”

“Geneva Rae—”

“Alright, fuck, enough. Can you just let me get through this?”

“Cool, but I’d like to point out that what you’re saying is absurd and I disagree with all of it.”

“Noted, Barnes. Here’s my point.” Bucky sighed and slumped into one of the bar stools, popping the cap off one of the bottles of beer on the counter with his left hand. He gestured for her to continue. Geneva huffed, gathering her braids into her hands and twisting them into a bun at the top of her head. She pulled a hair elastic off her wrist and tied them loosely together. Then sighed again. “Thank you. Fuck. I’m…I am not used to the idea of being wanted. I’m used to having to be smart to overcome not being beautiful. Okay? That’s it. I’m used to having to be smart, and be funny and mean when smart wasn’t enough. Because just being smart was never fucking enough. So I got used to being smart and fucking funny and mean because that’s the only defense that girls like me have.

“And this is not the point where you say ‘I think you’re beautiful,’ because that’s not the point. I don’t fucking need your validation, I just need you to understand why I’m like this…and why…why I keep pushing you away. Because every time you tell me something about myself that pushes against what I’ve heard about myself for the past two decades, I want to reject it. It feels like a trap, because every other time I’ve heard something similar it was a trap. Every time someone who looks like you has said those things to me, it’s been a trick, it’s been a lie, it’s been an empty compliment to get into my pants, and naturally when you say that, I’m going to be suspicious and defensive until I’m not.

“So that’s it. I’m not…rejecting whatever this thing between us is because I don’t like you. I’m rejecting it because I’m fucking scared that the rug is going to get ripped out from beneath me right when I get used to how good it feels and I might not be able to survive it this time. Because I really fucking like you, and you can definitely fucking hurt me and that’s terrifying.”

Bucky bit into his bottom lip, then held out his flesh hand, gesturing for her to come toward him. Geneva obliged, leaning her forehead into his chest as his arms came around her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, softly. Geneva huffed.

“I said—”

“Babe.” He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing across her cheeks. “I’m sorry because I didn’t listen to you before now. Because you had to argue me down to silence before you said all that. And mostly I’m sorry because someone told you that you weren’t beautiful, and kept repeating the lie until you were forced to believe it. Because you are. Beautiful. You’re beautiful, and funny, and kind, and fucking genius, and I like you. I’ve liked you since the moment I met you.”

“James—”

“Geneva.”

“Can you just—”

“I wouldn’t like you if you weren’t exactly who you are. This may be shocking or confusing, but I like who you are, a lot. I think you’re funny, I love that you don’t suffer fools gladly, and to be honest you would definitely benefit from a lot of therapy but I love and respect your vulnerability, and I really appreciate the fact that you trust me with it.”

“You may…be extremely right about the therapy thing,” Geneva drawled out, laughing softly against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, smiling softly against her temple.

“To be fair, that tends to be accurate no matter who I say it to.” Geneva snorted, the buried her face in his chest again.

“Bucky?” She whispered, softly.

“Mm?”

“Thank you.” He nodded, pressing a small kiss to her forehead, wrapping his arms tighter around her. “Can I…ask you something?”

“Sure. Shoot.” Geneva propped her chin up against his sternum and met his eyes, her smile a little sheepish.

“It’s weird.” Bucky smirked, his metal hand straying down and giving her ass a tight and startling squeeze.

“Not sure if you can tell by now, but I really like weird.” Geneva grinned briefly.

“Okay, um…would you…would you like to go out with me?”

“…right now?”

“No, fuck. Not like, ‘go outside,’ I mean…I’m not sure if you…fuck…Jesus Christ this is shit. Uh. Would you like to like…date me, I guess?”

“Is…is that not what we’re doing already?”

“No. Well I mean yes, but. I mean. Shit. You were right. You would call it dating, but I haven’t. And I…want to. And uh. I guess I want to tell other people. If that’s still something you want to do. If not, we don’t have to. I’m fine with not being an idiot about this whole thing anymore. That’s…I mean, if you still want me, I guess.”

Bucky froze, examining her, gaze flitting all over her face, his jaw ticking.

“And you’re a professional _writer_?” He blurted, suddenly, his eyes going wide. “That was _awful_.” Geneva’s eyes narrowed before she smacked him in the chest.

“Fuck you, Barnes, oh my _God_!” Bucky didn’t let go, instead he pulled her tighter to himself, chuckling softly.

“S’that a promise?”

“Suck my dick and die, how’s that for a promise?” Geneva shot back, grinning.

“Your accent just came out, Morrisania.”

“And? Problem? You and ya dumb loud vowels, _Crown Heights_?”

“Point taken.” Bucky snorted, leaning down. He lifted her off her feet and gently dropped her on the counter. Then cupped her face and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I’d love to. Officially date you, I mean. I guess.”

“Well maybe I changed my mind. Fuck I look like dating somebody from Brooklyn?”

“A woman with excellent taste, that’s what. Speaking of,” he ran his right thumb across her lower lip, his breath catching when her tongue darted out to tap the tip of it, ever so lightly. Their gazes locked. “You planning on telling those assholes we know out there?”

“Well, uh… _my_ friends know already?” Bucky let out a disbelieving huff. “And _you_ should be happy about that because I was on the edge of breaking up whatever the hell this thing was, but they talked me out of it. Not sure if you’ve noticed by now, but I have problems. I try to sabotage good things that happen to me.”

“Huh. I used to do that.”

“How’d you stop?”

“Easy,” Bucky sighed; the fingers of his left hand skimmed up her thigh as he pulled her closer to him, a shiver climbing up his spine as her legs went around his waist. “Y’just fundamentally change the trauma response your brain cultivated to protect you for most of your life and you’ll never do it again.”

“Oh, that easy,” Geneva laughed. Bucky cupped the back of her head and pulled her to him.

“1,2,3, Bob’s your uncle,” Bucky murmured, low. He pressed his lips to hers, his left hand slipping underneath the hem of her shirt to press against her back.

“That shouldn’t be as hot as you made it,” she sighed, shivering as they broke away. Bucky snorted.

“Uh huh.” His right fingers slipped across her waist, sliding between her thighs. “I’m 90, doll. I’m full of surprisingly hot turns of phrase. ”

“Oh God, please don’t remind me how old you are while you’re trying to finger me.” He pushed his hand through the leg hole of her shorts and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit.

“How are you gonna stop me?” Geneva let out a soft gasp, shifting her hips forward to bear down hard against his palm.

“Well I’m not planning to _now_ ,” she sighed. He huffed a laugh, yanking her closer to the edge of the counter with his left. “I probably should.”

“Why’s that?” Geneva shivered, biting into his upper lip.

“Well, our friends are one room over, there’s an array of communal snacks on this counter next to me—”

“‘And you know how loud and fidgety I get when you finger fuck me’,” he laughed, his voice pitching high, grinning when her hands splayed across the counter on either side of her, when she ground her hips against his hand, when she caught his gaze and glared, biting his bottom lip as sharply as she could. He hissed, catching her jaw in his left hand and pulling her face away from his to take her in. “You fucking tease.”

“You like it though,” she replied, leaning in and catching the tip of her tongue on his bottom lip before he tilted her head up and away from him. “I don’t sound like that.”

“You don’t _think_ you sound like that.” His gaze trailed down the line of her throat, and his grin went wider, meeting her gaze. He let out a faint groan, watching her eyes flutter as the tips of his fingers moved past her panties and pressed into her. “You’re fucking _soaked_ , doll,” his eyes flickered down to where his hand disappeared into the leg of her shorts, her hips thrusting up against his palm, feeling the tight, slick warmth of her, and back up to her face, to her eyes, so hazy and half lidded, her bottom lip between her teeth, her breath coming sharp and low.

“J,” she groaned; her hand found his wrist, and she shivered again, when he twisted in her grip and pushed further in, bending his fingers. “We gotta s… _fuck_ —we _can’t_ —we have to stop—”

Bucky huffed, his fingers sliding out of her. He pulled her off the counter and turned, striding past the island and fridge until he reached the pantry, tucked in an alcove at the back corner of the kitchen. “We don’t have to _stop_ ,” he sighed, turning into the corner, then pushing her into the side of a cabinet with a tad more force than necessary. His left hand tightened slightly around her throat and she gasped, her fingers twisting into the fabric of her shirt, pulling him toward her. His flesh hand found her hip, and he turned her, pressing her between himself and the door. “We just had to _move_.” Geneva turned her head, catching his eye for a quick moment before she arched against him and pulled down her shorts and panties.

“Cover my mouth if you don’t want an audience,” she whispered.

Steve did not consider himself a prude, not by _any_ stretch of the imagination. Quite the contrary; one of the many gripes he had about Captain America the Brand™ was the fact that it actively sanitized the spicier parts of history, things that he’d never been and would never be ashamed of. It was actually the reason why he was so amped for Geneva to take over writing that book about him; he’d read her work (at Thor’s prompting) and she was nothing if not honest and thoughtful about her subjects. All of the (blatantly unauthorized) biographies about him either actively ignored his sexuality and his politics, or grossly exaggerated and sensationalized both. And based on the interviews he had with her, he knew he was in good hands.

That being said, so many of the stories he told her about his youth were wild, to say the least, so there was really nothing that anyone could say or do that would phase him.

So Bucky, balls deep in Geneva, with only muffled panting and the soft _clink!_ of Bucky’s knuckles knocking against the cabinet in the corner to give them away, was not alarming for prudish reasons.

He averted his eyes, fixing them on the knobs of the moving cabinet they were nearly hidden by. Unfortunately, they were about 10 minutes late on the time movie night was supposed to start, and Steve volunteered to retrieve Geneva from the kitchen while Zoe went off to go get Bruce from the lab and Bucky from wherever he’d allegedly gone off to (which was less confusing that he’d disappeared now, and made more sense that Zoe’d jumped up so quickly to go find him once his absence was felt.)

But based on the facts that:

  1. Zoe had been very clear on going to get just Bruce and Bucky, and
  2. Geneva was holding up a group event that she had clear fondness for,



it was obvious that this development before him was was not widespread information, so he (Steve) would have to;

  * think of a really killer excuse to go back to the common room and start without the two of them, without making it obvious that they were together (because they deserved to announce this of their own accord, no matter how vindicated due to being right he felt on one hand, and annoyed and [hmmmm, jealous, maybe? what was this sensation he was feeling?] on the other.) or,
  * wait for them to…wrap up proceedings so he could tell them that he knew, make them let him get in a couple “I fucking knew it, you fuckin’ assholes”, and then let them announce of their own accord later.



Since his brain was still having trouble processing the sight before him, plan a was looking extremely unlikely, which meant he’d have to go with plan b. Which was advantageous for them, because now they had a lookout to keep someone else from walking in on them (and who was he to spoil a good time, really?) But…

Whew, _fuck_.

That also meant that he (Steve) had to listen…to them (his best friend and the stunning girl his best friend had spent ages obsessing over)…fucking…

Oh…Bucky must’ve picked up some new tricks. Steve’s never heard a woman react exactly like that before. He kind of wants to look. He knows it would be inappropriate…though it could be okay…maybe they’re done by now…

They’re a beautiful couple, he has to admit. She’s all soft, gentle brown curves, her long braids, fading from black at the top to a deep red color at the middle and ends, slipping out of their high bun from the…exertion; Bucky, tall, broad and panting, his hair mussed by her wandering hands, driving into her mercilessly, his right hand covering her mouth, muffling her moans, his vibranium fingers digging into her waist, tilting her hips back, his face buried in the back of her neck.

Hm…Geneva has a pretty spread of freckle constellations across her face…the backs of her hands too. Along her thighs and stomach as well. Jesus Christ…he never really let himself acknowledge just how gorgeous Geneva was. Not since that night at the bar, when he’d seen how Bucky looked at her as she joked with Sam—

She gasped, her sigh pitching up into a soft scream. Bucky’s right hand had dropped to the front of her, to where Steve couldn’t see; he leaned into her, making her bend over farther, his teeth digging into her shoulder. Geneva bucked underneath him, letting out another choked gasp.

“There, _fuck_ , _there_ Bucky, _please_ ,” she moaned soft, tossing her head back. He groaned against the crook of her neck and redoubled his efforts, pistoning his hips, pressing her into the side of the cabinet, _fuck_ , he’s _really_ putting his back into it—

Steve is not a prude, by any stretch of the imagination. Not anything approaching it.

But Bucky has got his head buried in Geneva’s neck, and Geneva’s nails are digging into his bicep, pulling at his hair, and she’s gasping and shaking in his arms, and Bucky’s hips are rolling hard and sharp into her, and Jesus fucking Christ, she’s coming, _fuck_ she’s so fucking hot when she comes, the way her eyelids flutter, the way she bites into her bottom lip as she’s coming down, and _shit_ , how she shakes in his arms when Bucky groans, low and gravelly, and he starts fucking into her again—

_Yeah_. Fuck. Steve _cannot_ stay here. Because Bucky only groans like that when he’s about to come, and Steve _absolutely cannot_ stand here and have a satisfying “I fucking knew it” moment with them when he’s so hard he could drive nails into steel.

Yeah, he thinks as he promptly turns on his heel and moves to take the back elevator to his room. He’ll be smug later.

Much later.

Waaaaay later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have a little something else coming based on the last bit of this chapter...keep an eye out...

**Author's Note:**

> "Börbanamaðr" roughly translates to "king-killer".


End file.
